Tea Leaves
by YupThatsMySock
Summary: Coffee Shop AU. Sherlock's irritated when change comes to his favorite café in the form of a new barista, John, but finds life has more flavor with him around. A quirky romance told in 100- or 1000-word snippets. university!Sherlock, med-school!John
1. Bean There Done That

**Disclaimer: **I don't own BBC's Sherlock, otherwise it wouldn't be fanfiction.

This little piece of work here will be written in 100-word snippets except for every 10th chapter, which will be 1000 words, just to make it last a little longer. The prompts I'm using are LJ's 100colors.

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><p><strong>Bean There Done That<strong>

There was one coffee shop that Sherlock Holmes favored, not for its coffee but for its absolutely mouthwatering tea. Now, he did enjoy a coffee from time to time, but his first and true love when it came to Bean There Done That's various beverages was their Earl Grey.

Over time, Bean There's cocoa-colored chairs had become occupied by university students, but they kept quiet, which was all he needed. There was a regular barista there who knew exactly what he liked and how he liked it.

However, one night after an uncharacteristically stressful case, his barista wasn't there.

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><p>Color was prompt #54: cocoa.<p> 


	2. The New Barista

I'm posting the first ten chapters straight off, just to see what the general reaction is. If you do want Tea Leaves to continue, I would very much appreciate you letting me know. It will have a fairly steady plot as time passes, as right now it's just Sherlock getting bitchy and catty because he's been inconvenienced (more on that in later chapters).

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><p><strong>The New Barista<strong>

Sherlock's glasz eyes locked in on the sandy-haired, compact man now standing behind the counter where the little Asian part-timer usually was.

A feeling of irritation crept up his spine, putting him into a cross mood, which was rarely, if ever, the case after helping out Lestrade.

In an atypical move, he asked the person at a nearby table, a recognized regular of Bean There, where Kimiko was.

"The little Japanese part-timer, right?"

Nod.

"From what I hear, she took off. Got engaged not six nights ago. Moved away with her new fiancee."

This was a problem.

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><p>Prompt was #96: Writer's Choice (glasz, which is an unusual blue-grey-green mixture)<p> 


	3. Neophobia

Sherlock majors in science, but he doesn't think he needs a diploma to show that he's an expert.

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><p><strong>Neophobia<strong>

See, Sherlock, while readily adaptable for any situation, didn't enjoy change, particularly where specific comforts were involved, comforts that included Earl Grey tea and white chocolate biscuits from Bean There Done That.

"Who is the new barista?" he questioned the yuppie who'd answered his question about Kimiko.

He shrugged. "Didn't serve me."

Sherlock noted his sweatshirt bearing the insignia of the nearby university; the one he was in fact attending at the request of his parents (if he'd had the choice he would have skipped it entirely).

He sighed, turning to the front. This was sure to be a drag.

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><p>Prompt was #8: white<p> 


	4. Spilt Milk

John doesn't consider himself the artsy type, but he will to impress the locals.

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><p><strong>Spilt Milk<strong>

John Watson straightened the maroon work shirt underneath his apron and quickly wiped his hands of spilt milk.

It was only day three of his new job as a barista at Bean There Done That, the coffeehouse near the local university, Imperial College London. Quite a lot of students from the university frequented the cafe, and he was always happy to have a nice chat with some of the girls who were impressed that he was not only in the medical department at Bart's, but was also working in the artsy coffeehouse nearby.

He turned to face his next customer.

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><p>Prompt was #61: maroon<p> 


	5. Meeting the Regular

Sherlock strikes again. I think that by this point he makes his deductions by second-nature, but I bet when he was younger he did it just to impress people. He's cheeky like that.

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><p><strong>Meeting the Regular<strong>

Chestnut curls, alabaster skin, clear blue eyes, and an imposingly tall, beanpole frame greeted the considerably smaller John, who smiled at the scarfed customer.

"Can I help you?"

"You write a lot," said the dark-haired stranger with a bored glance over John's frame. "You really shouldn't have a part time job when you stay up late handwriting essays."

John blinked, wondering if he knew this man. "Erm...can I entice you with our new Colombian blend?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed the customer's eyes. "Just Earl Grey, thank you. And one of the white chocolate biscuits, if you please."

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><p>Prompt was #67: chestnut<p>


	6. Inconveniences

I adore Mycroft, just for the record.

Sherlock's catty, much to his brother's amusement.

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><p><strong>Inconveniences<strong>

Mycroft was swinging his black umbrella as he strolled into the cafe. Spotting his brother, he ambled towards the window table where Sherlock sat and eased himself into the chair.

"What's gotten you in a huff?" he questioned the visibly irked young man.

"I want my barista back."

"Should have figured it was something petty with you," Mycroft chuckled. "Really, Sherlock, don't be such a child."

"I would just have to sit down and she'd know what to bring me."

"Now you have to wait in line? Tragic."

Sherlock's eyes flashed at the sarcasm in his brother's voice. Mycroft smiled.

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><p>Prompt was #9: black<p> 


	7. Sparring

Mycroft is in good shape, but you wouldn't know it from the way Sherlock talks (and he's nonsensical anyway).

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><p><strong>Sparring<strong>

"And how did the case go?"

"Fine of course, as soon as Lestrade contacted me."

"I thought that your vanity might be subdued once you hit university, but clearly not," Mycroft noted dryly, reaching for a sugar packet to pour into his mulberry tea.

Sherlock's eyes followed his brother's hand. "How's the diet, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's hand subtly switched directions and snatched a packet of the low-fat sweetener instead. "Mummy wants to know if you'll be back for the weekend."

"Tell her no."

"She thinks it's a good idea."

"Then tell her no twice."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

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><p>Prompt was #69: mulberry (has anyone ever had mulberry tea, out of curiosity?)<p> 


	8. Guilt Trip

Mycroft brings up past grievances and Sherlock's weak point: Mummy.

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><p><strong>Guilt Trip<strong>

Sherlock's eyes were on the new barista who had taken the place of his comfort-zone favorite.

"Want me to put surveillance on him?" questioned Mycroft, guessing that this was the new barista who was making Sherlock more irritated than normal.

Sherlock looked at him in disgust, almond-shaped eyes narrowing. "I'm not entirely sure why you're here, Mycroft."

"Just inviting you home for the weekend. Mummy would love to see you."

"I'd like to see her too, but not with you around."

"You'll make her cry."

The insult hit Sherlock's ego with a satisfying smack. "Fine. Just a day."

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><p>Prompt was #74: almond<p> 


	9. My Brother's Keeper

Mycroft takes care of his brother in some ways but not in others. Broken umbrellas are pretty useless.

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><p><strong>My Brother's Keeper<strong>

"You _are _getting paid for the crime scenes you go to, Sherlock?"

A noncommittal shrug from the collegian caused Mycroft to sigh heavily and pull out a scarlet wallet. "I'm sure Lestrade wouldn't be thrilled to pay an obnoxious brat like you, but he would. You just need ask. Don't get behind on your dormitory and class payments anymore, because I know you are."

Sherlock glanced at the money now laying on the table and looked away. Mycroft stood.

"Don't expect me to come and help you out next time," he said, walking away. "And keep the umbrella; it's broken."

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><p>Prompt was #79: scarlet<p> 


	10. Almost Completely Right

The first of the 1000-word chapters! John gets gipped by Sherlock. So does Lestrade.

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><p><strong>Almost Completely Right<strong>

John hummed as he pulled out a rag to wipe down tables with. He glanced over at the peculiar patron with the cloak-like coat and the scarf. Underneath he wore a crisp, midnight blue suit.

_A college student? A businessman? _wondered John mildly, not really caring until he remembered that the man had actually been able to guess he'd been up late writing.

He squashed an urge to go talk to him. _He seemed irritated with me anyway. God knows why, but he did._

But it was ten minutes til closing time, and the fair-skinned man with the dark curls had barely moved from his spot at the window table, staring out into the lit streets of London, shifting only to drink his tea and eat the white chocolate biscuit, which he slowly savored.

John hadn't really ever felt shy around people before but for whatever reason, found himself bashfully hesitant to approach this man. "We're closing in ten minutes."

The man's glass-blue eyes flicked toward him, then back to the window. "First week-no, third day here, taking over for a Miss Kimiko Mori. Took a part-time to pay for school no doubt, but you're not from around here. Bart's, I assume. Good luck funding medical school on the wages of a barista. What days are you working here?"

John tried not to gape, unsure if he should feel awed, indignant, or diminished. "Sorry, but...how on earth would you know any of that? I don't think I've ever met you."

"That's hardly of consequence; I was still able to rattle all that off about you, wasn't I?" scoffed the dark-haired man. "You didn't answer _my _question."

"Hmm? Oh...I'm here every night except Mondays."

The man very subtly sighed and nodded. "Yes, just as I thought. Thank you."

He left a small tip on the table, sweeping several (very _large,_ John noted) bills into his coat pocket and walking towards the door.

"Just one," John blurted out, becoming quickly humiliated at his sudden burst. The stranger turned to look at him with what was either irritation or curiosity in his eyes.

"Just one of them, that's all I want. Tell me how you knew just one of those things about me, because I swear I've never met you."

"I believe I mentioned that whether or not we've met doesn't matter; I simply observe. Your eyes and your wrist told me about your late-night writing; your eyes are bloodshot and have rings beneath them-that was easy enough, even a simpleton could guess that." He seemed to smirk. "That was the easiest one."

John wanted to protest, ask about all the other things the man had known, but begrudgingly held to his promise of just asking for one thing.

At his reluctant silence, the man's smirk grew wider and he left with an infuriatingly amused look in his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sherlock had his own dorm room, and for good reason: as he unlocked his door upon returning home from Bean There, he was greeted by the ringing of an egg timer. Excitement spiking, he rushed to his window where on the sill there was a petri dish containing blood samples and a serum he'd nabbed from that stupid Anderson's incompetent assistant. He heard a crack as he stepped on a beaker, no doubt concealed over clothes and papers littered all over the floor (Sherlock was no longer able to tell you what color the carpet was, for he hadn't seen it in nearly a year).

He took samples from the blood and quickly slipped it beneath his microscope lens, turning on the light and tuning the focus. For several minutes he studied the microorganisms in the sample, texting Lestrade with one hand.

_I want the sister of the victim from the alley accident in for questioning tomorrow. SH_

Lestrade's reply was prompt. **_No one told you about that case. It's classified, particularly from you and your nosiness. How the hell would you know about it?_**

_The secrecy of a case hasn't stopped me before. You shouldn't leave things sitting on your desk. SH_

**_What a pest you are. Don't you have class or have you decided school is beneath you?_**

_Dammit, I have a lecture tomorrow. Bring her in anyway, I'll text you what questions to ask her. SH_

_P.S. Mycroft says you need to pay me._

**_I'm sure Mycroft wouldn't be quite so rude and told you to ASK for payment. Yes, I'll pay you, but you keep quiet about it, since you're not actually an employee._**

_I won't say a word. Doesn't mean I won't wave the paycheck in Anderson's face. SH_

**_Mycroft and I wonder when you'll grow up sometimes. It's always good for a laugh._**

_I'm sure. I'm going to send you a picture of these blood samples from the microscope. Keep them in the file. SH_

**_Blood samples? You bugger, how did you get your hands on the blood samples? No doubt you stole some of Anderson's supplies. You could get in serious trouble for that, Sherlock._**

_Tell Anderson to get an assistant who is immune to flattery and flirting. He might be able to keep some of his things safe. SH_

_P.S. Remind me to return your badge to you._

**_YOU TOOK MY BADGE?_**

_Goodnight. I'll try to make it tomorrow evening. SH_

**_Sherlock! I want you at Scotland Yard NOW! I've been looking for my badge for days!_**

**_Sherlock? SHERLOCK?_**

XxXxXxXxXxX

John smiled a little, gazing down at his desk back at his dorm.

_Well, he was almost completely right, _he thought, lifting a notebook and flipping through the pages fondly. _But, really, it would be hard to guess about something like this. It makes sense for me, a college-aged man working part time, to be staying up late writing essays, but..._

He chuckled and closed the notebook, getting into his bed and hitting the light.

John hadn't been writing an essay; he'd been writing a book.

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><p>Prompt was #84: midnight<p>

Again, if your curiosity or interest has been piqued, please let me know. I want to know how this is being received before I continue. Thank you, it's very much appreciated.


	11. Breaking and Entering

I received an overwhelming amount of positive feedback in the forms of subscriptions, favorites, and comments. Thank you all so much; I'm very flattered. I'm a bit busy today but here is a little something in my thanks (I wasn't planning to update quite so quickly; I didn't think this little piece of work would get off the ground).

Sherlock is, surprisingly, human. Mycroft needs his boundaries set.

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><p><strong>Breaking and Entering<strong>

Sherlock stared darkly at plum-colored rings beneath his eyes in the mirror.

It had been a late night with blood samples and now there were papers all over his desk mapping out possibilities he'd come to. The bleary collegian stumbled out to get dressed for the lecture he was to attend when he saw something on his desk.

_I didn't leave a folder there..._

He flipped the manila folder open and saw information on a man named John Watson. He instantly recognized him as the barista. Sherlock texted Mycroft.

_Don't break into my dorm anymore. SH_

_You're welcome! MH_

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><p>Prompt was #28: plum<p> 


	12. Tall Dark not so Stranger

John recognizes himself as bi, but he prefers ladies over gentlemen. He likes that a lot of them are shorter than him, plus they smell so nice.

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><p><strong>Tall Dark (not so) Stranger<strong>

John found himself staring into aqua the following evening.

"What can I get you?" he asked the young woman who stood at the counter, admiring her vivid eyes.

"Just the hot chocolate," she said absentmindedly, digging around in her bag for her wallet.

John prepared her drink and took her payment, bucking up a bit of courage. "Say, miss, what's your-"

At that moment, though, a tall dark figure swept into the coffeehouse with a silver-haired man close behind him. Blue eyes locked on John's and flashed in annoyance.

John forgot what he was going to ask the girl.

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><p>Prompt was #39: aqua<p> 


	13. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Yay Mike! I liked how he was done in A Study in Pink, and those little smiles he got on his face when Sherlock analyzed John with a glance. I'm not entirely sure what their relationship is, but I like to think that Mike knows Sherlock very well. I mean, he does come into Bean There several times a week, so Mike sees him a lot; he's bound to learn a little about his customers. But more than that, it was implied that they talked often.

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><p><strong>Innocent Until Proven Guilty<strong>

Mike, one of John's classmates who also part-timed at Bean There, leaned against the counter when there was a break in customers. "What did you do to piss off Sherlock Holmes?"

"Who?"

"The tall one with the suit and dark hair," Mike supplied, glancing over at the window seat. John followed his gaze, taking in the silver-haired man with him. They were speaking in low voices, poring over folders and photographs. The one called Sherlock was having what he'd ordered yesterday- Earl Grey tea and a white chocolate biscuit.

"So, what did you do?"

"I have no idea."

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><p>Prompt was #95: silver<p> 


	14. Genius

Sherlock is in his early twenties; I don't have a specific age. Not a teenage frosh, thank you. Twenty-two/twenty-three, I'd say? That would put our young Watson at about twenty-five.

I'm not very clever at chapter titles, if you've noticed (if anyone has suggestions for better title names, I'd be thrilled to hear them, or suggestions for titles in general that I can weave a bit into, haha). Also, please feel free to leave me criticism like "This is getting boring; get it back on track!" or "You'r writing style isn't up to par with previous chapters; do it again!" I won't be upset, I'll be grateful.

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><p><strong>Genius<strong>

"My guess," Mike continued, going to the fridge to refill the cream, "is that he doesn't like you taking Kimiko's place. The two of them had a mutual agreement or whatever; she would see him sit down and bring him the same thing. She'd been doing it ever since he started over at Imperial, a year after I started working here."

"That's it, then? He doesn't like that I don't know to bring him tea and biscuits?"

Mike flashed him a smile. "Kind of a high-maintenance fellow, don't you think? But he's a genius."

"Oh, that's nice...wait, what?"

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><p>Prompt was #27: cream<p> 


	15. Pulling Strings

Sherlock just-starting-out with his career in crime-solving doesn't mind pulling the strings available to him. Of course, once he gets older and establishes himself, such dependence is nonsense. (Mycroft didn't mind, though.)

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><p><strong>Pulling Strings<strong>

"Sherlock," Lestrade growled, "if you're bullshitting me, I swear..."

"When have I ever been wrong?" replied Sherlock fiercely, jabbing a finger roughly at photograph of a bloodied body in an alleyway. "You asked me for an explanation, I just gave you one."

"But for God's sake, her _sister_...?"

"Past history suggests bitterness, jealousy, and rivalry," said Sherlock, shoving a photo of a young woman with olive skin at Lestrade. "Not mentally stable, either. _Research_!"

"Where did you find that out?"

Sherlock kept quiet, sipping his tea. He hated calling on favors from Mycroft, and worse, telling Lestrade that he had.

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><p>Prompt was #35: olive<p> 


	16. Something New

If Sherlock didn't have the personality that he has, he'd be a first-class creeper.

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><p><strong>Something New<strong>

Sherlock caught the eye of the barista behind the counter. Lestrade saw the blond part-timer (_New, _he supposed, stirring his peach tea thoughtfully) look away quickly under the gaze of the young scientist.

"Did you pick on him?"

Sherlock scoffed, not looking away. "I'm not a child...of course not."

Lestrade kept his eyes on Sherlock and watched a slow flush creep up his pale neck. "Okay, maybe a little."

Lestrade sighed, leaning back. "You shouldn't scare civilians- _strangers-_ with your mind games."

"He wasn't scared," blurted Sherlock suddenly, seeming mildly intrigued at the memory. "He was only...surprised."

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><p>Prompt was #17: peach<p> 


	17. He Who Chats With Skulls

In case you haven't noticed, I tend to update in chunks. Hope that isn't bothersome, what with a bunch of emails popping up in your inboxes and whatnot.

Sherlock's job description and overall awesomeness according to Mike. He kind of thinks of Sherlock like how a fangirl thinks fondly of her celebrity crush: even the eccentric and almost unappealing habits are mildly endearing.

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><p><strong>He Who Chats With Skulls (and Yells at Them in French)<strong>

"You needn't worry," assured Mike. "He's intimidating but he's not a bad sort. He's here a lot. Doesn't talk much. Orders the same thing. Sometimes he brings a skull."

This caught John's attention. He looked over his shoulder incredulously. "Wait, _what_?"

"Yelled at it in French one time!" Mike seemed strangely proud of the eccentric customer.

"Is he...?" John twirled a finger near his temple.

"Of course he's crazy. Bloody brilliant, though."

John put away the raspberry jam. "What does he do?"

"Works at crime scenes, mostly. He hunts down murderers for fun, and does a damn good job, too."

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><p>Prompt was #51: raspberry<p> 


	18. Assistant to the Madman

I've always wondered, like with crime shows/novels like Sherlock Holmes and Numb3rs and CSI and Law & Order...are there really that many murders occurring and I'm not aware of it? I know having my room in a basement is sort of like living in a cave, but really. (John questions the same thing.)

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><p><strong>Assistant to the Madman<strong>

"No way."

Mike just nodded, a slow smile appearing.

"Because there are _so _many murders in London," John mocked, snatching a small green plate and handing it to Mike to wash.

"Apparently! He's a real..._different_ sort of bloke. He's mentioned that he's looking for an assistant."

John didn't register what was being implied for a long moment, then balked. "Don't even think about it."

"It would be extra money and free access into crime scenes, John! Don't think I don't know you, you adrenaline junkie. You're a thrill addict. You'd have so much fun!"

"With him? I think not."

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><p>Prompt was #6: green<p>

Thank you to all who are so kind as to review, even if there really isn't much to review with little drabbles (chapter-by-chapter reviews certainly are impossible when you only have a hundred words per). Seeing the reviews, the story alerts, and the favorites in my inbox when I get home from school are the most fun pick-me-ups. If you're an anonymous reviewer and I can't send you a PM, I would like to extend a thanks to you too, and know that even if I can't tell you through a private message that your review means just as much to me, and I am truly grateful for it. :)


	19. Tolerance Levels

Sherlock likes some people. Not all of them. Just a few.

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><p><strong>Tolerance Levels<strong>

Sherlock, surprisingly, could say that he did like Mike. This was unusual because he didn't like most people, finding them unstimulating and clueless. While he couldn't really place Mike into a category that truly set him apart from the rest of the population, he did enjoy seeing him. He had similar feelings towards Lestrade, but due to a history together as colleagues, his tolerance for the DI was elevated.

Lestrade had just left when Mike swept towards him, excitement in his eyes as he sat down.

"I've found you," he said with glee in his brown eyes, "an assistant: John."

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><p>Prompt was #18: brown<p> 


	20. His Corresponding Piece

...It's only the second time around with this and I've already managed to break my 100x9/1000 streak. This ended up being 1,300 words long. I tried my best to cut out 300 words of that but I just couldn't...it was all fairly necessary to character and plot development, unfortunately.

Thus, I threw caution to the wind and let it be 300 words over. I'll try not to let it happen again (I'm actually very embarrassed that it only took this long for me to be unable to make my standard).

**Quick note**: this takes place near closing time at the end of the evening. To try and keep it at an 00, I left out that particular detail. I just couldn't bear for it to be 1,305 or something as opposed to 1,300. I'm just anal about those things...

Also: More about John's history of enlistment in later chapters...

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><p><strong>His Corresponding Piece<strong>

John was far from pleased.

"Tell him no and I'm quite sorry, but I'm just not the man he's looking for," he bit out crossly as he prepared a complex order for a woman in a robin's egg dress.

"Why don't you just give it a try, see what you think?" pleaded Mike. "I already mentioned him to you."

"Yes, you told me," John replied, trying not to sound so petulant and catty. "I still don't know, for the love of God, why you decided to mention me, seeing as how he's got some kind of twisted vendetta or whatever against me for taking over for his favorite barista!"

He quickly made his way back to the front counter to give the woman her coffee. As soon as she disappeared, he whipped back around to pierce Mike with an irritated glare. "Look," he said, "I don't feel comfortable around him, and as much as I'd love to get back into action at crime scenes, I don't know this guy. I don't know what sort of work I'd be doing, what pay would be, what his work ethic is...no, Mike, this is a mess. If I was friends with him, I'd maybe consider it."

Mike grimaced. "Ah. Yeah, becoming friends with Sherlock is...not the easiest task. See, he's...sometimes difficult to...work with. And don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, but he has a few...problems..."

"...What was the message under all that tact?" John demanded flatly.

"He has little to no social graces and meager patience for those who can't at least keep up a little with him." Mike hastily added, "But once you get to know him, he's good to have around! Intelligent, athletic, good-looking..."

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend out of him," responded John with asperity.

"But he attracts women like bees to nectar," Mike finished. "Perks to hanging out with him? Yes. And he gets you your dose of adrenaline."

John hesitated. "I'd have to think about it. I'd rather get to know him first."

"Great!" said Mike quickly. "He's waiting in the back room."

"WHAT?" A disbelieving John followed Mike into the back room only to find...

_Shit_, John thought as Sherlock Holmes turned and fixed him with his disturbingly unwavering gaze. _I'm just not ready for this right now..._

Sherlock looked John up and down and exhaled slowly.

"I will forgive all past grievances—" (_Does he mean the tea and biscuits?_ John wondered incredulously) "—if you were to become my assistant. Of course, there are rules."

"…Rules."

"Well, naturally. You will be subject to my thinking aloud and will remain silent unless I specifically ask you to say something. You will not try to make me eat or drink during cases; it distracts me and leaves me unfocused. I will not tolerate laziness or blatant stupidity. If you find me playing violin during these times, I am not to be disturbed; it aids my thinking. Don't touch anything; not my personal experiments, not my journals, and most certainly not my violin. You don't answer to anyone but me. Is that clear?"

"…I haven't even said I'd be your assistant."

"No matter, I know you will be at some point," replied Sherlock with an airy wave of his hand. John's jaw dropped a little, surprise too great to let him focus on his indignation. "I know on very good authority that you are…what was it you said, Mike, 'an adrenaline junkie'?"

John cut in, "I wouldn't consider Mike 'good authority', Mr. Holmes—"

"Please, call me Sherlock. But I know that, being an ex-army man, you'll come rushing soon enough." Sherlock's eyes took on a gleam well-recognized by Mike, who smiled. "How's the shoulder?"

John seemed to have difficulty speaking. He finally managed to choke out, "I don't know how you'd know about that, but…" He struggled for a second and faltered, becoming resigned. "It's fine, thank you."

A ghost of a smile made the corners of Sherlock's mouth curl. "Excellent. I have a case tomorrow night if you would be so kind as to attend."

"Now, wait just a second," interjected John. "I have another job, you know. And I don't know you."

"Funny thing is, I know you," said Sherlock slyly. (At this point, Mike was barely coughing back a snicker; despite his cerebral and aloof nature, Sherlock was a drama queen to the toes and Mike knew it. No doubt he was just saying this for effect and in reality he'd just gotten Mycroft to look John up with his unsettlingly inexhaustible resources, and of course did his own "investigation" with his wits and deductive reasoning.)

John seemed speechless and looked a little like a fish with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach forward and snap it closed with his hand. "Good night, John," he said almost teasingly (_teasingly, _John thought with a strange swooping sensation in his stomach) and without another word, left the back room with a flourish of his black trench coat to return to his table.

There was a long pause as John let all this sink in and Mike waited for his reaction.

"…Bloody _hell_!" John finally exclaimed, whirling on Mike, a stunned look on his face. "Did you…did you _hear_ him? Did you hear him ordering me around? That…that…that smug bastard took one look at me and knew everything about me and even gave himself the authority to tell me what I can and can't do! What the hell?"

"Isn't he charming?" guffawed Mike. "So charismatic. He's a force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but I know you two will get along famously."

"Famously? Famously? How the bloody hell did you get 'famously' from that?"

"You don't know Sherlock—"

"Isn't that the truth! Dear God, what have you gotten me into, Mike?"

"Let me finish. You don't know him like I do. I know how he works, at least as well as a simpleton like myself can understand that brilliant monster that is Sherlock Holmes. There's something missing to him, and that something is you—his assistant."

"I'm not his boyfriend, his soul mate, nor any friend of his," sneered John, continuing scathingly, "don't pull 'completion' bullshit on me with that nutcase. I don't complete him or whatever the hell it was you said, and I'm almost offended to know that you think he completes me! What does that make me then; a psychopath?"

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath, please do your research," called a muffled yet still pointed voice from outside and John realized just how loud he'd let his words become.

He lowered his voice into a softer yet just as scolding tone. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking but that man is absolutely out of the question. I have a decent, steady job here and would gladly give up whatever excitement could come from a crime scene so as not to be with that…madman."

Mike held up his hands in a defensive stance, easy smile still on his face. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Give him a go, mate. I'll talk to him. Don't let him bother you; he's snippy with everyone."

"I am not snippy," retorted the muffled voice, much closer to the door now. John threw an exasperated look over his shoulder.

"You snip," Mike countered, seeming amused. He looked back at John. "If he were to just let you get to know him, do you think you'd consider becoming his assistant? Let him show you just what kind of person he really is."

John hesitated, mentally weighing his options. Finally, he let out a grudging "Fine" and crossed his arms.

Outside the door, Sherlock Holmes smiled and nodded. "We'll see..."

* * *

><p>The prompt was #91: robin's egg<p> 


	21. Minx

Dear me, I do adore Mycroft...but not quite as much as Benedict Cumberbatch. Congrats Mr. Cumberbatch on winning GQ Actor of the Year. We're all quite proud of you!

* * *

><p><strong>Minx<strong>

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at his computer, watching John Watson turn the color of a wild strawberry as Sherlock made his intentions of having the man as his assistant known.

"What a little minx you are, Sherlock," murmured the elder Holmes, grinning. Keeping his eye on the security camera image, he picked up his cell phone, dialing a very familiar number.

"…Mummy? It's Mycroft. …Yes, I'm just fine, how are you? …Excellent. Now, I just wanted to let you know to expect Sherlock to bring a friend home for Christmas. …Yes, Mummy, I know it's September…"

* * *

><p>Prompt was #72: wild strawberry (that's a color?)<p> 


	22. Sincerity

Our high-functioning sociopath isn't a people-person, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

* * *

><p><strong>Sincerity<strong>

Sherlock wasn't "good" at people. He was a master of many sciences, could tell a computer programmer from his tie, and spoke fluent French, but when it came to people he just didn't have any tact.

That's not to say he wasn't a master manipulator; he'd learned that lying was a useful skill early on. He knew how to win over people's trust with shallow appearances and minimal effort role-playing.

However, he sensed that John was different, and that it would take more than a little acting. This, he realized, remembering John's strong navy blue eyes, would take sincerity.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #88: navy<p> 


	23. Sneak Attack

Bean There is a cozier, more personal version of Starbucks. With books.

* * *

><p><strong>Sneak Attack<strong>

John didn't have classes the following morning so he slipped off to Bean There with a token of surprise-he'd never thought that he'd enjoy his workplace so much. With its comforting smells of coffee, pastries, and books (there was an extensive shelf across two walls), he felt a strange sense of nostalgia and "home".

Enjoying an apricot muffin, he sipped his macchiato and reveled in the quiet of the shop in the morning when from behind him came: "Hello."

John jumped, effectively burying his nose in frothy milk. He whirled around to stare into the face of Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #44: apricot<p> 


	24. Enticing

How many people wonder if Sherlock was _really _getting a drink for class? (*raises hand*)

* * *

><p><strong>Enticing<strong>

"You have froth on your nose."

"Oh, _really_?" replied John a bit scathingly, reaching for a napkin. "May I ask what you're doing here, sneaking up on me?"

"I was just getting a coffee before going to class," replied Sherlock crisply. John stared at the styrofoam cup in his hand.

"You're just getting it black?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Sure."

"Have you ever tried it another way?"

Sherlock's head titled ever so slightly. John realized bemusedly that the man smelled faintly like pine. "Does it really matter?"

John hesitated. A small smile came to his lips. "Let me entice you with something."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #46: pine (it's in Sherlock's soap :3)<p> 


	25. The Artistic Type

John has a secret passion for coffee...more on that later.

* * *

><p><strong>The Artistic Type<strong>

John jumped over the counter fairly adroitly, Sherlock noted, but noticed that it was his left arm that he favored. _So the right one was shot, _he thought. He's been unable to recall which it had been during their formal introduction.

He could hear Mike's bleary voice from the back. "John, what are you doing here? 'S not your shift…"

"You know I've got a thing for coffee," responded the sandy-haired barista teasingly, emerging from the back, clumsily tying his apron as he walked. He looked at Sherlock and grinned.

"Coffee," he said, "is a bit of an art."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #94: sand (did I fudge it because I said "sandy"?)<p> 


	26. Expert

Martin Freeman's John is so f*cking adorable. Every move he makes is cute.

Sherlock is impressed with John's enthusiasm for a good cuppa. John gets shy.

* * *

><p><strong>Expert<strong>

Sherlock watched with mild interest as John moved around behind the counter with surprising ease for someone who had been working there for less than a week. Upon commenting on this, John chuckled and nodded. "After Kimiko left, they were short a person and were getting too busy. It was sink or swim, so I learned quickly," he told him, putting coffee beans into a grinder.

Sherlock watched as his barista began to prepare milk to froth and added a shot of chocolate to the bottom of a cup.

"You're sincerely enjoying yourself," Sherlock realized, pleasantly surprised. John flushed pink.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #2: pink<p>

Thanks to all the subs/favs I get in my inbox every day! Reviews too, they're my favorite.

Question: am I updating too quickly? I was told by a friend that I need to update more slowly because it'll keep my readers interested longer and hanging on for the next chapter, and that it'll cause them to review more because then they'll feel more like they're supporting me and causing my chapters to come faster. True or false? Opinions from the lovelies who read this? Thank you, darlings.


	27. Sweet

"Mochaccino" is also commonly referred to as "caffe mocha".

* * *

><p><strong>Sweet<strong>

John handed him a bowl-like cup and announced, "I present to you...mochaccino."

Sherlock lifted the enormous jade-colored cup delicately, sniffing the whipped cream. "And what is it comprised of?"

"One part espresso, two parts milk, another part froth, lots of chocolate and whipped cream, and plenty of John-Watson-brilliance." He seemed fairly pleased with himself and Sherlock couldn't suppress an amused smile.

Carefully, for the drink was still hot, he took a sip.

He recognized the bitterness of coffee right away, but something sweet had permeated itself deliciously through it. He nodded his approval.

John grinned.

* * *

><p>Pompt was #23: jade<p>

Thank you for all the feedback alleviating my doubts and confusion on readers' opinions/interest in the story...it was very helpful and has given me a sight for the best course of action to keep all you dears interested. Thank you, all!


	28. Coffee Snob's Little Brother

Yay, bonding! Sherlock isn't a psycho (erm, excuse me...a high-functioning sociopath) _all _the time. But just because he's being civilized and friendly doesn't mean that John fully trusts him...

Also, for American readers who aren't familiar with such things, in a lot of places in Europe (I can cite Spain as one off the top of my head), secondary education-like sophomore through senior year of high school-is referred to as "college", and what we consider college-higher education from 18 and older-is referred to as "university". My friends in Barcelona always confused me when they were talking about going to college at 16. I thought everyone there was brilliant, or they had really high academic standards.

If I'm not correct about this and I have John saying the wrong thing, please let me know so I can fix it and save myself from further embarrassment!

* * *

><p><strong>Coffe Snob's Little Brother<strong>

"If you only just started working here but have such skills in coffee-making, that means you've been exposed to it before," guessed Sherlock, sitting not at his usual window seat but near the counter. John leaned forward, watching him enjoy the mocha drink.

"You're right," admitted John. "My sister Harriet is a bit of a coffee snob and has made me make her fancy drinks since I was fifteen. That, and I've worked at cafes before to support myself through college. I came to class in the mornings smelling like coffee."

"Must have made you popular."

"I suppose."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #42: mocha<p> 


	29. Fridge Horror

Ack. Reality bites, John. Tv Tropes and Idioms defines "Fridge Horror" as, simply put, when something becomes terrifying after the fact.

* * *

><p><strong>Fridge Horror<strong>

John waved to Sherlock as he left for class. When the young man was gone, John took his apron off and went to Mike in the back room. "He's surprisingly civilized for the nut you've made him out to be."

Mike pulled his phone from his khakis and held it out, revealing a snapshot of a refrigerator. John did a double take and saw a severed head inside.

"Wait, why does that fridge look so...oh Christ, no."

Mike nodded solemnly. John stared at the icebox that they kept their foods in with horror.

"_Why?_"

"It was convenient for him."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #40: khaki<p>

John's probably feeling a little squicky knowing that not only is the fridge used for their supplies, but he's also been keeping his lunch in that fridge.


	30. Spirited Away

I just _had _to recreate these scenes. They're done in my own fashion, obviously, because first of all, it's AU so I _have_ to switch things up at least a _bit_, and because of my 1000-word limit for every tenth chapter, I have to condense and rebuild.

We're going to encounter (at long last) an admission of trust (sort of) by John, who misses the war zone too much to pass up the battlefield Sherlock's offering him, within the next ten or so chapters (I know it seems far away, but don't forget how short my chapters are).

There was no one better for Mycroft than Mark Gatiss. The man is a genius and, just like Mr. Cumberbatch, a ginger. Ever since I was little, I've had a thing for red hair. It must be genetic; my dad only dated gingers.

**Note on the chapter title:** "Spirited Away" is not only a movie, it's actually a phrase: "kamikakushi" meaning "hidden by the gods" and it's used to explain the mysterious and often unexplained disappearance of a person. John gets spirited away by Mycroft, the god of the British government and the British Secret Service and the CIA (but only on a freelance basis).

I'll stop talking now. Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Spirited Away<strong>

John didn't often overreact; if he did, it was for good reason, like finding out that a madman was seeking to employ him as an assistant and had for him a list of guidelines (demands) that had to be met in order to work with him.

But when he was confronted by two men clad in black suits and ushered out of his genetics class (to the wide-eyed stares of his professor and classmates), he was surprised to find that this was not an overreaction-worthy situation.

He didn't know much about cars but was able to tell that the one he was escorted (forcefully) into was worth a fortune. In the seat next to him was a young woman wearing a three-piece suit and thumbing madly away at her phone.

John watched her for a bit before saying, "Hello."

She glanced at him and smiled. "Hi."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

She smiled a little more and shook her head. "Not at all."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"Sit."

"I prefer to stand."

"...Sit."

John sat slowly, delicately on the plush seat the man had prodded with his umbrella. They were in the very posh-looking hotel on the very top floor in an impossibly swanky penthouse decorated in the Rococo style (Harry was an interior decorator and years of helping her study had ingrained such useless information in his mind).

The man before him was tall (making him acutely aware of his own 172 centimeters) and dressed in a smart black suit. He was swinging a black umbrella lazily with one hand and drinking tea from a Wedgwood cup in the other, assessing John with keen blue eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes and the way they pierced John. It made him quite uneasy.

"Do you know why you're here?" asked the Umbrella Man. John shook his head and was answered: "Your association with Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes flicked toward the door before slewing back to Umbrella Man.

"What do you mean? You can't...I mean, you couldn't be his...friend. So what are you to him?"

"An enemy. No, an arch-enemy, he likes to call me. He's always had a bit of a dramatic streak."

John thought back on the swishy coat Sherlock wore despite it still being quite warm and mentally agreed.

"You had your first contact with him approximately two days ago and your first conversation with him yesterday in the kitchen of the coffee shop Bean There Done That, where he offered to make you his assistant. Something you did has piqued his interest...I assume you two shall be finding an apartment together by the end of the week?"

"I never agreed to be his-"

"I'm here to offer you a certain sum of money."

John stopped mid sentence and his ears perked, albeit guiltily and hesitantly. Medical school was rather difficult to pay for and what with his mum being retired, Harry out of a job, and his father being deceased, money was hard to come by. "In exchange for...what?"

"Information, but not any you'd be guilty about giving. I'd just you to tell me what Sherlock is up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him...constantly."

At that moment, John's phone beeped. After a glance at Umbrella Man, he took it out and read the text.

**_I'm at Bean There. If convenient, come at once. SH_**

_SH? Who the hell is that- SHERLOCK HOLMES. How the hell...oh, Mike, I'll slaughter you._

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Umbrella Man. John shook his hand.

"Might be nice," he continued, staring at John. "Paying for school...helping get your sister out of debt...supporting your mother...but if you got rid of your useless therapist you'd save a bit more."

"How the hell would you know about that?"

"Really, John, she doesn't know a thing about you. The shake in your left hand isn't from stress. It's from desire. You miss the war; you aren't haunted by it."

John stared, every sense on high alert. He nearly leapt out of his skin when his phone beeped again.

"So how about it?"

John didn't answer, staring at his phone.

**_If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_**

And with that stupid, pretentious text from Sherlock, he made his choice.

"No," he said simply.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

John made it back to Bean There only ten minutes late for his shift, feeling shaken and slightly annoyed by his surprise attack.

Sherlock was waiting at his usual seat and looked up when John entered. John walked over and waited expectantly, which caused Sherlock to give him a quizzical look. Sighing, John supplied, "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important?"

"Ah, yes," said Sherlock, his face brightening. "I need you to make me that delicious beverage you made me this morning."

John's mind came screeching to a halt. "...Mike has a shift right now, he could have made you one."

"I wanted it the way you make it."

"You brought me here...to make you a mochaccino. ...I was on the other side of London-"

"No hurry, it wasn't important."

"-meeting a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked puzzled.

"An enemy."

"Oh." He looked visibly more..._relieved? _"Which one?"

"Your archenemy, according to him. Do people _have _archenemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

John hesitated. "Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"...No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

John, despite his irritation, allowed a small smile. "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you'll ever meet...and not my problem right now. Mochaccino?"

"Just my coffee and not my lovely company?" asked John sarcastically.

"I suppose so," Sherlock allowed. "The anatomy department confiscated my skull."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

_I'm trying to hire him. I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare him off by abducting him, Mycroft. SH_

**_I'm quite impressed. He didn't take the money and wasn't frightened. MH_**

_You're not very frightening. SH_

**_Keep this one, Sherlock. MH_**

_Obviously. SH_

* * *

><p>Prompt was #22: Wedgwood (also spelled "wedgewood") which is a gorgeous type of china typically in a light blue color, but they're also commonly recognized for being white with blue painted drawings. My mom has some Wedgwood china that she's quite attached to.<p>

I like stalking (erm...taking a glance at) all the profiles of the people who favorite/subscribe/comment on my stories. Its always a massive disappointment when they don't have anything in their profiles, hahaha. I dunno, it just makes me excited; there are _real people _enjoying my work. It's exhilarating; I really get off on it. Readers are better than drugs.


	31. Something There

...Embarrassingly, the song "Something There" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast was playing in my head during this...hence the chapter title. ...Sorry.

If I haven't responded to a review of yours, please forgive me! I adore each and every single one but I do get busy and can't always remember if I respond to yours or not. Just know that they are heart-warming and wonderful; thank you all so much!

John's getting used to Sherlock's presence. Sherlock's making a conscious effort to meet John's standards.

* * *

><p><strong>Something There<strong>

Something was different after John's "abduction."

For two weeks, at some point during the day, Sherlock was there. He tried to come during his new "favorite" barista's hours, John noticed bemusedly. Usually he would wait in line for his tea and biscuits, and sometimes he'd tell John to surprise him with something new. He'd stay at his window seat and study or meet with the silver-haired man to discuss cases.

One time John saw him just sitting there, enjoying the afternoon sun. His dark hair had bronze highlights, he observed.

Something inside him enjoyed watching that strange, brilliant creature.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #71: bronze<p> 


	32. Longing

I can't believe I'm already on chapter 32. My, how time flies.

Anyone know the name of the case Sherlock's working on? I rather liked this story; I think it was my first-ever Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p><strong>Longing<strong>

Sherlock was meeting Lestrade at Bean There to explain to him _why_ the nutty snake-collecting stepfather of the twin girls was the cause of one sister's death because for the life of him, the DI couldn't figure it out. It'd been painfully simple once Sherlock had gotten a good look at their bedrooms.

He was running late, actually, and when he arrived Lestrade gave him a look and glanced at his watch. Sherlock's sky blue eyes glanced longingly at the counter, wishing he could have some tea and biscuits; wishing-not for the first time-that Kimiko was there.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #30: sky<p> 


	33. Choice

John makes his decision.

* * *

><p><strong>Choice<strong>

"You haven't gone over to talk to Sherlock."

John pulled his eyes away from the scientist sitting at his usual window seat and looked at Mike peering at him over the top of a blender. "He seems busy."

"He was making eyes at our teapot and pastries."

John's eyes, somewhat unwillingly, flicked once again to Sherlock in his indigo suit. His hair was wet from the drizzling rain, and he had stood up to go over to his partner's side of the table. He looked harried as he held up photographs.

John turned to the stove and prepared some tea.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #80: indigo<p> 


	34. Tectonic Dynamics

And now...things shift.

* * *

><p><strong>Tectonic Dynamics<strong>

Sherlock sat back down after making his point about the ventilation of the bedrooms. "And that's how he killed her."

Lestrade leaned back in his chair. "We'll take it from here, Sherlock. Thank you, again."

Sherlock concealed a smug smirk, knowing that Lestrade was tired and grumpy. He unconsciously took his tea cup in hand to have a sip and did a double-take.

"When did these get here?" he demanded, gesturing at the Earl Grey tea and the white chocolate biscuits that'd mysteriously appeared at his elbow.

He looked up at the counter. John looked away with a blush.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #77: blush<p> 


	35. Meeting Halfway

Sherlock makes his decision now, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Meeting Halfway<strong>

It happened the day after that, and the day after that, and the week after that, too.

Sherlock would sit down in his seat, and John was there with a warm cup of tea and the white chocolate biscuits.

Sherlock, for the little social tact he had, knew what this was: this was an admission of acceptance (a small one, at least). This was a truce. This was trying to meet someone halfway.

On the ninth day of this occurrence, he was sipping from a lavender teacup, watching John make hot chocolate. When he finished his tea, he approached him.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #11: lavender<p> 


	36. Enough for a Lifetime or Not

Our famous scene. I have to keep _some _things the same.

* * *

><p><strong>Enough for a Lifetime...or Not<strong>

Two pairs of azure eyes caught with the other's, bringing their owners to a halt. John's hand hovered over the pot he was stirring hot chocolate in, waiting for Sherlock to speak.

"You're in med school."

"Yes, yes I am. I think you knew that, though."

"I did," Sherlock acknowledged smoothly. "You're proficient in your studies."

"Top of my class. I get the feeling that you knew that too."

"You were in the army."

"Again, yes."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?"

"...Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"...Want to see some more?"

"Oh God, _yes_."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #86: azure<p> 


	37. Arrangements

Secretly, Sherlock's pretty psyched. He doesn't act it, though.

* * *

><p><strong>Arrangements<strong>

And then the pan that John was stirring hot chocolate in bubbled over because he hadn't been paying attention, scorching his hand.

"AH! Dammit, Sherlock, don't distract me while I'm working!"

Sherlock ignored this little spectacle and John's now bright-red hand. "Tomorrow is your off day, am I correct? I'll introduce you to Lestrade and get you access to crime scenes. Then we'll see about an apartment."

John dropped the napkin he'd been holding to his hand in shock, then quickly snatched it off the stove. "E-Ex_cuse_ me?"

"We'll get an apartment together and split. It'll be cheap."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #1: red<p> 


	38. Aplomb and Moxie

Sherlock can be quite the pest. John doesn't know why he makes excuses for him.

* * *

><p><strong>Aplomb and Moxie<strong>

"Now, wait just a minute-!"

"Must be off," said Sherlock with a surface-y "know I'm obnoxious but just don't care" smile. "Test tomorrow..."

John scowled. Sherlock hadn't said anything, but the implication was there: _Not like _I _need to study for it, though..._

With a swish of that (_stupid, _John thought) coat of his, Sherlock headed back to his dorm.

"Awfully forward, isn't he?" murmured Mike, topaz eyes peeking over the blender again. John threw him a look.

"I suppose an apartment _might _be cheaper than living on campus," he muttered, wondering why he was making excuses for the madman.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #32: topaz<p>

The chapter title is a little quirky, and for those who like words and definitions (I'm a language geek), Aplomb means assurance of character and cool self-confidence, and Moxie means boldness/courage and forwardness/aggressiveness. Sherlock in this chapter, basically.


	39. Special Deal

So CBS is making a modern day Sherlock, too. Not sure how I feel.

* * *

><p><strong>Special Deal<strong>

If Sherlock was annoyed at John's five-minute tardiness, he didn't show it. It was Monday night, John's off day, and the Sherlock was sitting at his window seat when John met up with him.

"We go first to Lestrade," he said without any other greeting, standing and straightening his coat. "Then we look at the flat I've found for us."

John gaped, his blue eyes indignant. "The flat you've ALREADY found? Since _last night_? With no input from me whatsoever?"

Sherlock's lips twitched in a faint smile. "You'll like it, and you can afford it. I got a special deal."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #4: blue<p> 


	40. The Science of Deduction

Still have mixed feelings on the CBS Sherlock Holmes. Seems a bit too close for comfort.

* * *

><p><strong>The Science of Deduction<strong>

They were in a taxi now, as they had been for about twenty minutes, riding in silence. Sherlock seemed to be focused with an extraordinary intensity on his cell phone, his alabaster face sometimes giving way to an annoyed look or a scathing glare as his fingers pecked back a retort to whomever he was talking to.

John tolerated this, but the silence was still prodding at the back of his head, alerting him of its presence. Sherlock finally seemed to notice this, his eyes creeping to peer at John surreptitiously. "Okay," he said finally, putting his phone down and glancing out at the rose-colored sunset over the Thames. "You've got questions."

"Yeah," answered John immediately. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Wait, crime scene? I thought we were going to meet a Lestrade."

"We are. He's at a crime scene, he texted me earlier today. Next?" repeated Sherlock pointedly.

John stifled an irked huff. "Who _are_ you? You're a college student working for Scotland Yard. What's your major? Crime? Are you joining the police force?"

Sherlock's answering look was smug. "I'm a science major, actually. But my occupation is a consulting detective. Only one in the world—I invented the job." (He hadn't, actually; it was actually a clever name Lestrade had come up with as the official position to give Sherlock a paycheck; the name had stuck and the young man quickly claimed credit. Lestrade kept silent about all of it.)

"And what does that mean?"

"When the police are out of their depth—which is _always_—they consult me."

John grinned, looking at Sherlock in amusement. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock just turned his head to stare at John for a second and he felt a squick of unease at the almost condescending look in the other man's eyes.

"…They don't, right?" (Hoping that Sherlock would respond "No" and restore his faith in Scotland Yard, which had dropped several notches within the past thirty seconds or so.)

"Twenty-three days ago I made the comment that because you were an ex-army man, you'd come rushing to the occupation I was offering you and then I asked you how your shoulder was. You seemed surprised."

"Yes, how _did _you know about that? I thought I'd done a good job hiding it."

"The way you stand and walk suggested military training," Sherlock began in a monotone, as if he'd done this before. "You're well-built, which means continued training in athletics despite your service being over. If you were still in the service, you wouldn't be working in that coffee shop to support your schooling; the military would be paying for your education. You favor your left arm over your right despite being naturally right-handed, as seen by the way you jumped over the counter and open doors with your left hand. Shoulder is the logical choice of guessing where the injury was because those require strain on the shoulder. You're lucky that you're ambidextrous; anything that causes even the slightest pressure or strain with your right arm is automatically taken care of by your left, whether it's twisting or lifting something or writing down an order. Must be a sensitive wound."

"I didn't realize you were so observant," commented John after a moment, looking at Sherlock from the corners of his eyes curiously. "You also commented— that first night that we met— about how you could tell I'd been writing."

Sherlock smirked. "Another easy one. These, I may mention, are all things that would be evident and easy enough to figure out for a child…if they took the time to look. I knew you'd been up late writing because your eyes were bloodshot, but not in a taking-drugs-bloodshot way, and had rings beneath them— that meant insomnia or staying up late to work. It was the latter, because of your left wrist."

"My left wrist?"

"Ink smudges," replied Sherlock in an almost sing-song voice; John noticed that his tone had become more enthusiastic as his explanations had gone on. "You're right-handed but writing on a desk makes your right arm feel strained, so you use your left when writing anything of length; this is evident by the chicken scratch you call handwriting and the ink smudges from the pen you used on the side of your hand. You were right about one thing."

"_I _was right?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

There was a heavy silence in the taxi as John processed this and Sherlock languished in his victory. Then, he asked, "Why write by hand? Why don't you use a computer?"

"Can't afford one," John finally answered, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Ah. We'll see about that next then, shall we?"

"I don't want you to buy me a computer."

"Why ever not?"

"…It's a bit of a pride issue."

"Ah."

John seemed to swallow, and then remarked, "Sherlock. That…was amazing."

Sherlock blinked, looking around in bemusement as if wondering if the compliment was really directed at him. "Was it?"

"Of course it was; it was extraordinary…quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people usually say."

"Well, what do people usually say?"

"'Piss off'," responded Sherlock with a smirk. John grinned, chuckling a little.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock questioned as they got out of the car at the crime scene. "Oh, I may need your help when we get inside."

"I was in the military; I trained at Bart's," confirmed John. "I was shot in the shoulder. I was staying up late, writing in pen with my left hand."

"Spot on, then," said Sherlock complacently, "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"I wasn't writing an essay, though," said John, "I was writing in a notebook— a journal entry." Sherlock froze, inhaling sharply. "Now, what is it you want me to do when we get in?"

"Therapy," realized Sherlock suddenly.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

"_Therapy_!" Sherlock spat out the word like it was a curse. "It's always something. Figures that would be your recommended PTSD work…"

John smirked as Sherlock quickly walked to the crime scene, pouting at his near-victory. _Couldn't resist._

* * *

><p>Prompt was #36: rose<p> 


	41. Expecting the Unexpected

I like Lestrade a lot. I want to get into the backstory of how he came across Sherlock. We know that his first name starts with a "G" and it's been hinted at to be "Gregory", so that's what I've gone with.

* * *

><p><strong>Expecting the Unexpected<strong>

Gregory Lestrade couldn't say that he was _used _to the (sometimes horrifying) surprises Sherlock threw his way, but he knew to expect the unexpected and had a knack for taking things in stride. God knows he needed that eccentric, hopelessly conceited but ingenious hellion. He could tolerate the smug-bastard glint in Sherlock's eyes when he slunk circles around Lestrade's team, always eight steps ahead of them.

He popped a mint into his mouth and thought that by this point he'd seen enough from Sherlock that he'd rarely be surprised anymore.

And then Sherlock entered the room with his barista.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #89: mint<p>

Sorry I haven't been responding to reviews/messages; I've been awfully busy lately with school. Junior year of high school...I do have to concentrate on school sometimes, sadly! :D I will get back to all of you as soon as I can; please be patient with me!

And over 100 reviews? I never expected this to get any attention, and look where it is now! I'm so chuffed; thank you all so much for your kind words and lovely support.


	42. Paying the Rent

I'm sick, that's why I've been a little slow on the updating. (Strep throat.) I'm sleeping a lot. ^^

I made my mom watch Sherlock with me, and now she's hooked...but she ships Lestrade/Sherlock. MAMA, WAE U NO SEE SHERLOCK + JOHN = SOULMATEZ

* * *

><p><strong>Paying the Rent<strong>

"What is _your barista _doing here?"

"I rather dislike the tone you took regarding my assistant."

"Well, I 'rather dislike' the tone _you _took with your boss." To John, he said, "Are you really his assistant or is he kidding? Did he follow you home or something?"

"I'm not your employee so you therefore aren't my boss," Sherlock interrupted.

"That's subjective. I pay you to work for me."

Sherlock's pale coral lips twitched in a faint smirk. Lestrade continued, "So what's he doing here?"

"Helping me pay the rent."

Lestrade's eye twitched. _...When the hell did they move in together?_

* * *

><p>Prompt was #16: coral<p>

Don't worry, I'll convince Mom that Sherlock and John is OTP.


	43. Ordinary

Lestrade wonders what happened to change Sherlock's mind about John- last he remembered, Sherlock was giving the poor man the death glare for replacing his favorite barista.

* * *

><p><strong>Ordinary<strong>

"Lestrade, John Watson. John's to be my assistant; I expect him added to the payroll. Mycroft expects it too," he added for good measure. As if on cue, his mobile beeped. (_How childish to use my name to your advantage. MH_)

Lestrade nodded at John, wondering what had happened to convince Sherlock of the man's worth so that he overlooked John's intrusion of his comfort zone. John didn't _seem _to be anything out of the ordinary- twenty five, maybe, with a soothing but unremarkable presence and a cuddly-looking forrest green jumper. Completely average.

What was he doing with Sherlock, then?

* * *

><p>Prompt was #41: forrest<p> 


	44. Doubts

Poor Lestrade...knowing Sherlock makes you wonder these kinds of things.

* * *

><p><strong>Doubts<strong>

A horrifying thought struck Lestrade.

_Dear God, he can't be normal if he's running around- moving in?- with _Sherlock_...is he a lunatic? Another freaky genius, just a little quieter about it?_

Sherlock slyly took in Lestrade's wavering calm. "Are we needed here or are we allowed to leave, Detective Inspector?"

"You can go," Lestrade allowed. Donovan walked by with a "Hey, freak!" and wave of her fuchsia-nailed hand.

John nodded and began to walk back to the cab. Sherlock leaned in and murmured, "You're with me more than he is; doesn't that make him more normal than you?"

* * *

><p>Prompt was #65: fuchsia (Didn't put that prompt in very smoothly...it may require a rewrite.)<p> 


	45. Tangerines

John's not sure how he feels about Sherlock's cleverness.

* * *

><p><strong>Tangerines<strong>

Back in the cab, Sherlock said to the driver "221B Baker Street" and sat back in his seat, pulling out his phone. There was a bit of a gleam in his eyes that John was now a little more familiar with. Feeling a tad apprehensive, he scooted closer to Sherlock, prompting a quick glance from the other man but little else.

A peer over Sherlock's shoulder showed the message: _Ask Donovan to get medical records and check for allergies to tangerines. SH_

"...Did you just solve a murder?" asked John incredulously.

"Of course I did."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Mmmm...maybe."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #29: tangerines<p>

**Fun Fact: **The only reason it was tangerines is because I'm allergic to tangerines. Citrus in general bothers me, but tangerines are my downfall.


	46. 221B Baker Street

I don't really have anything to say, but the chapter didn't look right without my little author's note here. OH! Good luck to Steven Moffat and Sue Vertue; hoping that Sherlock wins the Emmy!

* * *

><p><strong>221B Baker Street<strong>

Baker Street was a not-too-busy road with an equal number of apartments to businesses. 221B was right next to a cafe, John was pleased to see, and was a nondescript brick building with pewter numbers declaring the address.

"Looks cozy," John remarked approvingly, but his expression suddenly fell. "...How much is it?" He asked ruefully. "This seems like it would be too much for me."

"Cheaper than your dorm," said Sherlock, lithely bounding from the cab to the door in three quick strides. "We'll split the rent...and I have a special price. "

He knocked on the door.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #47: pewter<p> 


	47. Already at Home

I found a Sherlock caramelldansen on youtube. Mind = Blown

* * *

><p><strong>Already at Home<strong>

Mrs. Hudson seemed to be a gentle old lady and John liked her fairly well upon first meeting. She led them upstairs to the upstairs flat they would rent, which was a just-right place that would've had a sense of homeyness to it had it not been uproariously disorganized.

"Yes, this will be fine," said John cheerfully and Sherlock nodded his assent. "It just needs to be straightened up a bit-"

"That's why I already moved in-" began Sherlock concurrently.

There was an awkward silence as John stared at Sherlock and Sherlock stared uncomfortably at the avocado-green walls.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #21: avocado (the color is reminiscent of avocado skin, not the inner fruit that's a bright green)<p> 


	48. Just Fine

It's not impossible to associate "home" with "Sherlock", John realizes.

* * *

><p><strong>Just Fine<strong>

John filled out the paperwork to move from his dorm and packed his belongings into cardboard boxes. He found he wouldn't miss the obnoxiously bright chartreuse walls, but he did feel a sense of unease at leaving behind something so familiar.

The discontent stayed with him all through the cab ride to Baker Street, thoughts plagued. _Am I making the right decision? Have I rushed into something that I shouldn't've?_

But it wasn't until he saw Sherlock in his stupid coat, waiting for him patiently to help him move in, that he realized that things may work out just fine.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #85: chartreuse<p>

This AN might be a bit lengthy but I was approached with something that interested me. Feel free to read as well, but this is specifically for Ko:

"I am beginning to wonder how far from canon are you willing to take this. do you have the entire story visualized in your mind or are there only pieces of a puzzle?"

Good question, but I also have questions for you, and as you weren't signed in/don't have an account, I'll do it here. First off: out of curiosity, is straying from canon considered good or bad? (Anyone can answer this, please feel free to enlighten me.) This is an AU, so the deviation from canon is expected. I have kept some things the same and some different, obviously, but I do begin to wonder as to whether or not people want me to head in one direction or another.

Second: on that note (of canon, I mean) what I have planned for our ending is close to canon in circumstances but with its own "twists", so to speak. It's still vague but for me the details flesh out with each passing day as to what I need to do for the most effective ending.

Continuing on: I have this beginning, a hazy middle, and an ending planned. It's a horrible way to write, I know, but I unfortunately don't have any close friends that I talk to/see every day that could aid me, as I'm the only one of my close friends who knows of Sherlock, so no helpful muse there. The events leading up to the end are in my mind but need ways to be put in writing. There are some specifics I know of and won't leave out (no spoilers, sorry) but as to my biggest concern, I am lost: the cases. Good Lord, they are throwing me a loop. I don't know whether to go into detail describing cases John and Sherlock take on or to hint at them more vaguely and let their growing relationship take over.

As to the "pieces of a puzzle", I know that these seem scattered and endlessly rambling, but if you remember that a "normal" chapter for an average fic is approximately 1000-2000 words long, then I don't even have five chapters done yet. That's the problem with drabbles- it seems endless, but when you put it all together, a 100-chapter drabble fic is the equivalent of a ten-chapter normal fic or thereabouts (possibly less, depending on how much the writer does in word counts for each chapter). I'm not very far into this, so while it seems scattershot, it will come into sharper focus farther on.

Hope that helps a little. If you have any more questions or opinions, please don't hold back- It's quite helpful to me as a writer to clear my thoughts of tangles and get myself on the right path.

Regards,

Aralas


	49. Gossiping

Mama: "You realize that you spent your entire last month's paycheck on..." *checks list* "...Spanish, French, and Italian cheeses, foreign films, a German-to-English dictionary, and Gregorian Chants CDs?"

Me: "Mmmm, I guess."

Mama: "Why don't you spend your money on things that normal teenagers get?"

Me: "Like drugs and alcohol?"

Mama: "Exotic cheeses, _really_? That's ridiculous."

Me: "You're ridiculous. You don't ship Sherlock/John."

Mama: "Yes, well, that's like pairing a kitten with a panther, isn't it? The panther looks so much better with the silver wolf." (Lestrade.)

MAMA, Y U SO DIFFICULT.

* * *

><p><strong>Gossiping<strong>

"_They moved in together? Thanks for keeping me posted."_

"My apologies," purred Mycroft amusedly into the phone. "He surprised _me_ with it too. I didn't expect him to move so quickly. Went and picked one out the same night he proposed the idea. I haven't seen him so excited since the time Father got him a chemistry set when he was seven." He twirled a custom-made royal purple pen between his fingers, kicking his feet up on his desk.

"_I just hope the John kid is a good influence on him," _continued Lestrade. _"Sherlock needs someone like him."_

Mycroft hummed his agreement.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #73: royal purple. I know I've mentioned it, but I love Mycroft. He's so flambrilliant.<p>

All right, Ko, here we go (no one else is obliged to read this unless they want to):

Actually, I did mention that John is a former soldier- at least twice, I think. Mycroft mentions the faulty therapist and the lack of the tremor in the hand in chapter 30, Sherlock mentions the bad shoulder in chapter 20, and notices it again in 25. I know it isn't a predominant theme that surrounds John, but it's there! _ I've actually got several chapters planned in the near future where it's discussed with Sherlock, if that helps. I'm still not entirely sure if I'm going to go through with each case we've encountered thus far in the series; it seems like it would be an awful hassle. They may be skimmed over and nodded to, or they may be covered in slightly more detail; that remains to be seen though for the readers (and partly for myself).

I've gotten aid and a muse in the forms of The Baker Street Pussy-cat and MoodKicker, who have both offered listening ears and aid should I need them. (Thank you, dears!) In addition, several other readers offered advice, to which I am grateful indeed- it's a great community to reach out into for writing aid, and I'm quite grateful.

Ooh, a troll? I guess I haven't been in the Sherlock community long enough to have encountered it. What was that all about?

Thank you, though, for your kind words of support and concern. It means a lot to me that you are serious about wanting this to continue and that you made an effort to encroach a serious topic with me in order to ascertain my own perseverance for the plot. Don't worry, I'm not one to get caught up in snags and let it take her down. While I may get tangled or stretched, I won't break.

Regards!

Aralas


	50. Learning Process

I imagine the early-twenties Sherlock to be far less mature than he is in his thirties; adult, but lacking in social graces and tact. So, basically what he is in his thirties...but maybe a nudge more childish.

The cooking scene was inspired by this little bit of genius: tinyurl .com/ 4xpbll9 (remove spaces)

* * *

><p><strong>Learning Process<strong>

It takes living with someone to really learn the best and worst about them. Sometimes, it seemed that the worst about Sherlock could overpower the best, but John made an effort not to let anything get to him too much. The way angry squawks (and sometimes the beautiful vibrato of a drawn-out note) of Sherlock's violin would wake him up at two in the morning, or the sometimes horrific things he found in the sink, or the temper tantrums when the six-foot-tall man-child was bored, weren't enough to make John leave. _I have my faults too, _he'd told himself sternly after a sleepless night in which Sherlock had paced like a caged panther and jabbered at the skull on the mantelpiece in French.

Sherlock was inconceivably atrocious at cooking, he soon discovered. At first he'd thought that he was just fond of eating out, because for a good two weeks into John's stay, they'd done little else. When John's paycheck was dwindling dangerously, he knew the rest had to be stashed away for school and mentioned to Sherlock the possibility of a homemade meal.

The blank look Sherlock had given him over his newspaper had left him feeling a bit nonplussed. "Well, _I_ think it's a good idea," he'd muttered in embarrassment, rubbing his neck. "I mean, as much as I love all the restaurants we've tried and whatnot, it's not really healthy, and it's getting rather pricey…"

"No, we'll try it, if you so insist." Sherlock had shrugged like it was no big deal and returned to the headlines.

And so, one Monday night, John was returning home from the grocery (Sherlock never got the food, which probably explained his almost unhealthily-lanky figure and his gaunt cheeks-did eh even have a regular diet?), armed with plenty of supplies to make a lovely garlic-sautéed-asparagus and chicken dinner. He was barely two steps into the flat when he smelled a smoky odor that made him choke. _Fire, _he realized frantically.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded towards the flat, throwing open the door. "SHERLOCK?" he yelled against the smoke, searching for his flatmate in concern.

There at the stove was Sherlock, wearing what appeared to be two aprons, a labcoat, protective gloves, goggles, and a surgeon's mask.

"Ah, John," said Sherlock, completely serious, voice muffled. "I retract your vote that we cook at home— clearly, it's not the way to go."

"…No, _NO_." John stared, appalled, at the charred substance spilling from the pan, sizzling unpleasantly as it hit the stove. "You, Sherlock, are _so_ lost. I don't know _what _you did, but you did it wrong, and that does not mean that we give up on home cooking just because you make one mistake."

"But I never make mistakes…"

John gave the (completely genuine) Sherlock a withering glare as he quickly moved the pan, wetting a washrag and trying to scrub carefully at the areas where black sludge was now caked to the stovetop. "_Everyone _makes mistakes, even you. Don't be such a child."

"I'm not a child," replied Sherlock in a juvenile manner, seeming rather irritated by John's criticisms. "I'm older than you."

John turned from his cleaning to give him a puzzled look. "Wait, what?" he asked, realizing that he didn't actually know Sherlock's age, or for that matter what year of university he was in. "No you're not. How old are you?"

In reality, Sherlock had never received John's birthday in the file on him; he'd merely gotten his status as a university student and background information about his war days, injury, and a few other details. "Twenty-two," said Sherlock smugly.

John stared at him for a second in shock, and then snorted, turning back to the stove and continuing the cleaning. Sherlock's look of conceit shifted and eventually fell away at the subtle superiority and amusement on John's face. "What?"

"Well, Sherlock," said John complacently, beginning to work on the pan, "_I'm _twenty-five."

John was able to successfully cook the chicken dinner he'd had planned, following a recipe that he'd found in a magazine (he'd always been a sucker for good food, like Harry was about good coffee). Sherlock had pouted at the table, angrily chipping away at the wood with his pocket knife before John had snatched it away, admonishing him for being such an immature prat.

"Face it, Sherlock," he said scoldingly, hiding his smile as he poured buttery sauté sauce over their chicken, "you've got a lot to learn."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

John still worked at Bean There, but he took fewer shifts in order to work with Sherlock on cases. It was far better practice of his medical-school-skills than anything he'd ever done in the classroom and he found that his grades, instead of dropping for all the time that he was spending running around London, were staying at a comfortable plateau near the top of the class.

Mike watched the two flatmates affectionately as they came in frequently; for John the coffeehouse was a refuge and a converging spot, a place he could always call his own whether he was on shift or off. Sherlock inevitably followed- Mycroft and Lestrade's orders were that he not only graduate with his class but he also graduate with top marks, so even the consulting detective had to study and spend time on homework. On days when this wasn't the case, he read books at his usual window seat or- something that was becoming more frequent- took the spot nearest to the counter so that he could talk to John in between customers.

Mike noted bemusedly to himself that he'd never seen either of his mates smiling quite so much as they had after they became friends. He'd watch John lean over the counter, supporting himself against the edge, feet dangling slightly, and Sherlock reclining in his seat easily, the two grinning and bantering back and forth and he realized: _This is right._

* * *

><p>Prompt was #70: asparagus<p>

Recently a deviantArt artist gave me permission to use his Sherlock artwork as prompts/inspiration for oneshots. I've already written one entitled "Physical Manifestation of Thought" if you're interested. It's pretty different from Tea Leaves; almost no dialogue and all...well, it's kind of bizarre, but in a weird way, kind of plausible in my head. You'll see.


	51. Handsome Intruder

Told Mama today that she has a bit of a fanbase now among the readers of this fic. She looked up from her book, stared at me for a second, then smirked and looked proud of herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Handsome Intruder<strong>

It was closing time at Bean There, but Sherlock always stayed in after to wait for John. As John wiped down the counter and turned off the machines (Mike had left early to study for a test), Sherlock sat on one of the tabletops and read his book.

Despite the door being locked, they heard the quiet clinging of the little copper bell that hung above it. Surprised, John glanced up from his cleaning, as did Sherlock, whose eyes lazily flicked up from his book.

In stepped a dapper gentleman with a black umbrella. He looked at them and smiled.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #38: copper<p> 


	52. The Interloper

Mom just told Dad contentedly that she has fans. He just smiled mildly, stopped strumming his guitar, and said, "You told 'em about all the fun we had in London and Berlin, right?"

Mom just got all excited and said, "Not even! All I did was talk about shipping Lestrade and Sherlock."

Dad kind of frowned and said, "Sweetheart, really, no one gets fans for shipping crack pairings." (Thank you, Daddy.)

* * *

><p><strong>The Interloper<strong>

He was fashionably dressed, in a black suit and a salmon tie, his black umbrella swinging adroitly in his hand.

John stared at him for a long moment, looking a bit panicked. He leapt over the counter, landing next to Sherlock at his table, murmuring, "That's the one who offered me money to spy on you."

"Yes," said Sherlock, who had been staring at the visitor with a withering sort of glare that still maintained a cocky sense of detachment and coolness. "I know exactly who this is."

"I thought I locked that door," John whispered in confusion.

"You did."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #31: salmon<p>

I love the word "interloper." Interloper: (n). Someone who becomes involved in a place or situation where they are not wanted or are considered not to belong.


	53. Protective

Guys, guys, please read this, if only the first chapter. Like, seriously...I had to lie on the floor to read this because I kept falling off my chair laughing. I seriously thought I was gonna die.

www. fanfiction .net/ s/7338112/1/ Flowers_In_A_Box (remove spaces)

* * *

><p><strong>Protective<strong>

"Domesticity suits you, Sherlock," said the interloper. John found that he had gravitated to stand a little ways in front of Sherlock and was startled by his own protective nature. He had little time to dwell on it for now Sherlock was standing up, planting himself behind John.

"Yes," said Sherlock, his voice prickly as a thistle, "I've even put on a pound or two thanks to John's culinary skills."

John looked up and slightly behind him. The top of his head reached barely past Sherlock's chin (something he wasn't happy to note).

"What do you want?" Sherlock finally questioned.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #66: thistle<p>

John is so cute.

I told Mama that she and Dad are basically Sherlock and John (if you knew them, you'd have to agree...if you want me to give the abridged version, just ask, because it's kind of hilarious). She thought about this...looked at my dad (Dad looked up from his knitting and was all "Hmmm?" *oblivious smile of love*)...and said, "Yeah, I guess they're pretty good together."

SUCCESS, BITCHES


	54. Taking Care of What's His

Went on a writing spree during school because I'll be busy all night...I promise to reply to messages/reviews tonight!

* * *

><p><strong>Taking Care of What's His<strong>

Mycroft resisted an eye roll. _Ridiculous._

Sherlock had done this ever since they were children, but the objects had varied. When he was three, it was his yellow-sweatered teddy bear. At nine, his chemistry set. At fifteen, it was his pride.

And now: his flatmate. Mycroft saw the familiar subtle yet dangerous look of possessiveness in Sherlock's pale blue eyes.

Why his little brother felt the need to protect John he had no idea— he had no intention of _hurting _him.

But, admittedly, he was rather pleased to see the same look blazing out at him in John's eyes.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #56: yellow<p> 


	55. Hostility

John gets pissed at Umbrella Man. Mycroft, you certainly are a fearsome presence.

* * *

><p><strong>Hostility<strong>

"There's no need to be so _hostile_," responded Umbrella Man with a smile. He hadn't actually answered Sherlock's question (irking John considerably). When Umbrella Man's powder blue eyes turned to him with a familiar yet not fully recognizable expression, John stepped backward, only to make contact with a chest. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder— Sherlock steadying him.

"Mike," Sherlock said suddenly. John's eyes narrowed. "Cornered him, did you? Stole his key."

John flared as Umbrella Man pulled out a familiar brass key from his suit pocket. "You _did_!" He stepped forward but Sherlock's hand tightened on his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #97: brass<p>

Poor Mike! Nah, jk, he's fine, just pissed that he lost his work key. (It dropped from his pocket and Mycroft snagged it...but he isn't saying anything.) Oh, and Mike isn't fat right now, he's actually pretty lanky...he gains weight later in life, haha.


	56. Lightbulb Moment

John has a lightbulb moment.

* * *

><p><strong>Lightbulb Moment<strong>

"I wouldn't," Sherlock said quietly, his voice suddenly in John's ear. "He's dangerous."

"Criminal mastermind?" muttered John, never removing his glare from Umbrella Man (who, to his annoyance, seemed amused). They'd encountered a few "criminal masterminds", including a cabby and a redheaded crook.

"Close enough," responded Sherlock, stepping past John towards Umbrella Man.

"No need to be so dramatic. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"Point proven, don't you think?"

John watched them, a strange sense of recognition crossing him. Same stance…same authoritative, charismatic personas…same hint of orangeish in their dark hair…

_Oh. Oh, duh._

* * *

><p>Prompt was #3: orange<p> 


	57. Freelancer

Sherlock isn't very good at insults.

* * *

><p><strong>Freelancer<strong>

"You disgust me, Mycroft."

"Yes, well, I didn't make Mummy cry at my last visit home, did I? May not be a good idea to call me a 'pumpkin-haired lard ass'— for one, my hair is _brown _and two, my diet is going excellently, thank you."

"Your brother is a criminal mastermind?" asked John, causing the brothers to pause and stare at him. Mycroft looked mildly affronted.

"Minor position in the British government," he reminded.

"He _is _the British government," replied Sherlock scathingly, "when he's not busy being the British Secret Service, or the CIA on a freelance basis."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #50: pumpkin<p> 


	58. Welcoming Brigade

Mycroft's true intent of visiting Sherlock and his warrior.

* * *

><p><strong>Welcoming Brigade<strong>

"You never answered my question."

"And what was it, dear brother?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Mm, your manners are still a little rusty, I see."

"If you're just here to bother me and John, I swear I'll—"

"Ah, yes, _John_!" exclaimed Mycroft in delight, turning on his heel to the considerably shorter barista, who started in alarm and backed into a table. "Just wanted to welcome you to the family."

"To the what?"

"Figuratively speaking, of course." Mycroft held out a hand.

"So…when you said you 'worry about him constantly', you mean you really worry about him?"

"Yes…constantly."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #98: Writer's Choice: rust<p>

Am I taking John and Sherlock's feelings for each other too quickly...?


	59. Jealous

Sherlock doesn't quite understand why he's jealous, but he knows he is. It bugs him.

* * *

><p><strong>Jealous<strong>

"Keep in touch, of course," purred Mycroft.

"Yeah, definitely!" beamed John.

Sherlock glared at his coffee mug (his favorite— a massive, sea green one).

Somehow, his brother and John had started talking and had managed to pass an hour getting acquainted. John had treated Mycroft to coffee, making him the same thing he'd made Sherlock, the mochaccino (Sherlock did _not _like that). Now they were chatting like old pals. He found he rather disliked the way John leaned on his hand and smiled when talking to Mycroft.

He added _Seduced__ John _to his list of reasons for hating his brother.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #48: sea green<p>

Maybe "seduced" wasn't the right word (though Sherlock _would _take it to such an extreme, wouldn't he?). Perhaps "enchanted"?


	60. Home

It was my fabulous beta The Baker Street Puusy-cat who recommended my next big plot arc to me. Thanks, sweetheart!

* * *

><p><strong>Home<strong>

"So...Mycroft." John looked at Sherlock with a cautious but friendly smile, sort of nudging the rigid consulting detective as they walked home, trying to get him to relax a little.

"What about him?"

"I like him. He's nice."

"You're the only one who thinks so," Sherlock grumbled.

John grinned, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and chuckling. Sherlock peeked at his flatmate, watching the smile that could have lit all of London, and quietly concealed his own happiness behind his trademark smirk. "Thank you," he said finally, causing John to look over at him in shock.

"Did you just _thank _me?"

Defensiveness caused Sherlock's hackles to rise but he kept his composure. "Yes."

John, wearing an expression midway between disbelief and amusement, stared at the streetlamps and the goldenrod patches of light on the ground. "For what?"

Sherlock pulled his coat closer to his lanky frame. The October chill didn't bother him but he felt a sudden need for enclosure and security. "No reason."

"Nobody thanks someone for no reason, least of all you, whom I don't think has ever willingly thanked _anyone_," scoffed John, grinning wolfishly. "C'mon, tell me. What's gotten you all sentimental?"

"I'm not 'sentimental'," Sherlock sniffed stiffly, "nor will that word ever be associated with me."

John laughed again, and Sherlock was delighted to hear it. It was so rare that people laughed kindly at the things he said and not with malice. He relaxed, silent. It took him some time to finally speak. "For putting up with my brother, I suppose. For...being kind to him."

"You'd rather not admit it but you actually like your brother."

"Yes, but I also hate him."

"I can understand that." A small smirk accompanied this, but there was a fair amount of unreadable emotion behind it. Sherlock watched John's expression in his peripheral for a moment.

"...Mycroft, he...appreciates you being willing to room with me. I'm something of a difficult person to find a flatmate for."

"Sherlock, it's nothing."

No, it was as far from "nothing" as Sherlock thought it could get. It was so much more than "nothing"; it was John's kindness and patience, his skills in cooking and his pragmatism, his smile and his laugh and his strange warmth.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had ever had something, but it was certainly the first time he'd ever had something quite like John Watson.

_I have a friend, _he realized with surprise. When or where it had happened, he had no clue, but he had a strong sense about it.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"There's a fine line between good eye contact and the stare of a psychopath, and right now you're on the wrong side of that line. You've been glaring at me for what seems like a good minute or so."

"Ah...my apologies."

John snorted. "We're just about home. You want me to make us some tea, provided your aren't growing a colony of bacteria or something in the kettle?"

"Ah, we'd better not...that colony has been in there long enough to have a written language and a calendar now."

John paled, quickly turning to Sherlock. "I was kidding about that, you know."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, John...so was I."

John blinked, then visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness. You really had me going there. Who knew you had a sense of humor?"

He happily trotted up the stairs leading to the door and Sherlock mentally commended his quick thinking. He didn't think John would react well if he knew about the mold species he was attempting to grow inside the kettle. He'd almost warned him this morning as John made tea, but had been curious about the mold's strength against hot water.

"We're home," called John, though Mrs. Hudson was probably sleeping. It seemed a ritual for him, most likely something picked up from a parent who'd often said it.

_Home. _It had a very nice ring when John said it, Sherlock thought to himself with a smile.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

Sherlock didn't socialize at school, really. He wasn't shy or anything, just disinterested ("Antisocial," Mycroft had once sniffed in disdain).

The other students didn't really talk to him much either; they thought he was an aloof but obnoxious bastard who seemed to live only to one-up them and try to embarrass them with his knowledge. He always seemed to know who was sleeping with who, who had done what, and what had gone on, even though no one ever saw him outside of class.

It was rather surprising to Sherlock, then, that as he was packing his things up at the end of class one day someone paused in front of his desk.

"Hi," said the someone.

Sherlock's eyes took in a quick analysis and was only able to register a normal university man with a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, trainers, and a backpack with headphones sticking out of one pocket. He had a fairly open smile and his eyes were trusting (and intriguing, Sherlock thought- they seemed almost too trusting). He had a bit of stubble on his face but he seemed fairly well-kept; Sherlock recognized an expensive wristwatch and a respected brand name stitched onto one of the belt loops of the jeans.

"Do you need something from me?" he asked mildly, straightening.

"Really liked your presentation today, though you got something wrong," said the young man, displaying his computer screen to Sherlock.

Stunned, Sherlock took in that he had indeed screwed up, but on a date (but not an important one).

"...I stand corrected," he said, wondering why the young man had bothered to look up such a thing- _Ah. He'd already known about it. But what an obscure thing to know. Interesting._

Sherlock found he didn't have to try too hard for a friendly smile (_John's influence? _he wondered vaguely) and said, "May I ask your name?" as he held out his hand to shake.

"Jim Moriarty," replied the young man happily as he shook Sherlock's hand.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #87: goldenrod<p> 


	61. Spying

We have a curious third party into our favorite pair.

* * *

><p><strong>Spying<strong>

She ran a manicured nail over the edge of the picture, a habit she'd never gotten rid of (she ran her fingers over everything). Eyes like garnets locked in on the compact, blond man with the easygoing smile standing next to the grim, dark Sherlock Holmes.

"Fascinating," she said finally. "I've seen everything I wanted to see. Thank you." She looked up at her informant curiously and asked, "Now, allow me to ask how you got such a picture?"

He had the grace to look abashed.

Anita Holmes scolded, "Spying through security cameras again, Mycroft dear?"

"Only in moderation, Mummy."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #34: garnet (which is a lovely color- kind of a burgundy-brownish shade)<p> 


	62. Excuse

Hi!1 Sorry for not having updated in a few days; things got a little busy. I'll soon be back to my chunk-updates.

Mike knows something only Mycroft knows.

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse<strong>

It was raining.

John peered out Bean There's front window into the murky evening.

He had no umbrella (his broken one's spokes looked like a tumbleweed) and it was a twenty minute walk back to the flat.

Lightning flashed and the downpour became even more torrential. John frowned. "Mike?" he called. "Got an extra umbrella?"

"Nope." Mike poked his head out from behind the counter. "Call Sherlock. He'd be happy to bring you one."

"I don't want to call him out in the weather."

"Don't worry about it. Besides- it's an excuse to see you. He won't refuse," Mike chuckled.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #92: tumbleweed<p> 


	63. Secretive Humor

Sherlock tends to have a certain kind of dedication when the situation is important enough for him. Inspired by the scene in The Great Game in which John calls him to be a photographer and Sherlock's immediate response is to drop everything and leave.

Mike finds it all very funny. John isn't entirely sure what "it all" is.

* * *

><p><strong>Secretive Humor<strong>

_"John? Is anything wrong?"_

"Why do you automatically assume something's wrong?"

_"You need an umbrella, don't you."_

"...Yeah. You want to bring one over? I'm sorry, I know you're studying for midterms..."

_"Think nothing of it."_ There were sounds of rustling and a door slamming. _"I'm on my way. Be there in twenty. I'll walk home with you."_

For some reason, this made John smile. "See you soon." He hung up and looked back to Mike at the counter. He was a bit embarrassed to find him grinning at him past a tumbler of mango tea.

"Something funny?"

"Oh, yes."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #81: mango<p>

**Dad ate all my fancy foreign cheeses! D: ***sadface* It cost me so much, too...I'm willing to share, but not if he plans on killing it. Argh.


	64. Expectations and Surprises

One of the first unconscious signs of attraction, for me at least, is always searching out aforementioned attractive person and feeling disappointed that it's not them entering a room, tapping my shoulder, etc. Anyone else get this way? It's like getting your hopes up to see them, but on a smaller scale.

* * *

><p><strong>Expectations and Surprises<strong>

After fifteen minutes the bell rang. John looked up, half-expecting to see Sherlock standing there, but was a bit disappointed that it was just two university students. One had a carnation in his suit's front pocket and John remembered that there had been a guest speaker at Imperial College.

_Sherlock wouldn't have gotten here so fast unless he'd been running_, John thought as he prepared the young men's drinks. _He doesn't have any reason to rush, anyway..._

Just then, Sherlock swept in, eyes locking in on John immediately.

"Sherlock!" called John, smiling...as did one of the customers, surprisingly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #60: carnation<p>

Three guesses as to who mystery customer is. (This is a bit rhetorical, as the answer is probably obvious...don't feel obliged to actually answer that.)


	65. Hidden Hurt

Awkwardness ensues.

* * *

><p><strong>Hidden Hurt<strong>

"O-Oh," said the customer in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at John. "Sorry about that..."

John quickly shook his head. "Ah, no, it's fine," he said quickly.

Sherlock began to walk forward. "John, the umbrella-"

"You two really do know each other then?" The suited customer seemed intrigued.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "John's my friend."

"Colleague," said John suddenly, turning back to finish off the drinks.

He didn't notice the flash of surprise that quickly turned to melancholy in Sherlock's blue-green eyes, nor the minute stumble in his words. "Yes. Quite right."

"Wonderful to meet you, John. I'm Jim!"

* * *

><p>Prompt was #59: blue-green<p>

To all those who guessed Jim, you're quite right.

Inspired by the fleeting disturbed look on Sherlock's face in "The Blind Banker" when John corrected his terming of their relationship.


	66. Catch You Later

I've never really been one to complain about reader participation, but I'm a little put out that the last round of chapters hasn't gotten the review count that I normally get. I've talked to a few people and I know that they're busy, but that so many of the regulars didn't respond was a little disheartening. But I don't think I should really be complaining, I still got some very lovely feedback. Thank you guys!

* * *

><p><strong>Catch You Later<strong>

"Yes, it's nice to meet you, Jim," said John, wiping his hands on his apron in order to shake the outstretched hand in front of him. "You ordered the melon smoothie, right?"

Jim's grin was confident and—it seemed to John—too bright. It set him on edge, though he didn't think he had a reason to be. "Yup! Colleagues, very nice…"

"I guess you could say that," chuckled John. Sherlock was being curiously quiet.

The young men got their drinks and Jim said, "Let's go, Sebastian. See you in class tomorrow, Sherlock."

"Yes," was the response. "Catch you later."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #62: melon<p> 


	67. Not All Right

Both are acting pretty immaturely, if you ask me.

* * *

><p><strong>Not All Right<strong>

"Thanks," said John once Sherlock's classmates were gone, holding up the umbrella (a jazzberry pink one, courtesy of Mycroft). Sherlock was looking at him oddly. John frowned.

"Right," said his flatmate, turning. "I'll just head on home then…"

"Now, wait a minute." John vaulted himself over the counter and snagged Sherlock's shoulder. "I thought you said you'd walk home with me."

"It's quite all right." Sherlock sounded completely cool and at ease, but John knew something was wrong. "See you at home."

"It's pouring rain out there! Sherlock, just wait, we can walk together. Please?"

But Sherlock had already left.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #82: jazzberry<p> 


	68. At Fault

John knows he screwed up.

Mom's totally pissed that they seem to keep moving dates around involving the Sherlock S2 release. She went to the gym to go burn off steam when I told her it may have shifted a week later.

* * *

><p><strong>At Fault<strong>

John brooded until closing time. What had happened to make Sherlock so…off?

_His classmates? _he wondered. No, they seemed friendly enough, and Sherlock been looking at him strangely. _So it's my fault._

He sighed on the walk home, remembering his days fighting with Harry. It was a bittersweet memory; he missed times where their fights were petty, like who got to watch their program on the telly.

The rain pounded viciously against his umbrella and his mind jerked guiltily to Sherlock, imagining his poor flatmate walking back in the storm, curls and clothes dripping. It made his heart ache.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #57: bittersweet<p> 


	69. Friends

Something is just so _right _with these two. Love it.

* * *

><p><strong>Friends<strong>

"Sherlock?" called John when he got back to the flat. Mrs. Hudson's head poked out of her kitchen.

"Hello, John dear. Sherlock's gone to bed early. Came in dripping wet. Odd, I saw him rushing out with an umbrella earlier…"

John looked down at the dripping umbrella in his hand. "…Dammit."

Sherlock was sitting on his bed in his emerald pajama bottoms, a towel around his neck, when John came in.

"You can't go to bed yet. You have midterms tomorrow," John said. Sherlock peered over his shoulder at him.

"You'd help me study?"

"What are friends for?"

Sherlock smiled.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #37: emerald (I bet Sherlock looks lovely in those rich greens)<p> 


	70. Connected

Hmmm, wondering about this chapter. Not sure how I feel about it.

John finds himself connected to Sherlock.

* * *

><p><strong>Connected<strong>

"You're not going to put a shirt on?"

"I don't have any need to."

"...I think you should."

"It's warm."

John peered at Sherlock dubiously. "It's not warm."

Sherlock's pale eyes darted up to look in the face of his flatmate. "It is."

John sat back against Sherlock's pillows. "If you have a fever and miss your midterms, I'll see to killing you myself."

"I don't get sick."

"You're not a superhuman, Sherlock."

Sherlock snorted. John rolled his eyes.

They sat on Sherlock's bed, John leaning against the mahogany headboard with pillows tucked behind him, Sherlock laying on his stomach with his head on his arms, reading from a textbook. John had an avalanche of notebooks and binders in his lap. Helping Sherlock study for his midterms had eventually given way to a relaxed silence in which Sherlock looked over chapter outlines and John quizzed him when asked. In the meantime, the young doctor flipped through Sherlock's notebooks, marveling at the notes and things written there. Every inch of paper was crammed with Sherlock's scrawl.

"Tough, becoming a scientist?" asked John as his eyes read over chemical equations.

"Not really. I rather enjoy it."

"You specializing in something?" John didn't know why he didn't have an answer, seeing as Sherlock knew that particular tidbit about him.

"Chemistry."

_Ah. _"Makes sense."

Sherlock smirked. "Hnn."

They lapsed into quiet again. John grabbed another book and leaned his head back, stretching out a little more. _Sherlock's bed is awfully comfortable_, he noted ruefully, wondering if Sherlock had claimed the better mattress for himself or if it was by chance.

John continued looking through the notebooks, pausing when he saw Sherlock's name written at the top of a worksheet. "Hey."

"Mmm?"

"What kind of a name is 'Sherlock' anyway? And 'Mycroft' for that matter."

"Family names," was the answer. "My great-great paternal grandfather was named Sherlock Holmes, and he had an elder brother named Mycroft."

"So...not the result of parents being drunk during the name-confirmation?"

Another smirk flitted across Sherlock's mouth. "No, thankfully. Had that been the case I would have been named something mundane, like 'Bob.'"

"There's nothing wrong with the name 'Bob.'"

"There are universes of things that are wrong with that name," grunted Sherlock as he flipped onto his back and stretched his lean body until it was taut as a bowstring. "You've asked two questions, now it's my turn to ask you two."

"You should be studying for your midterms, actually."

"Mmmm, not really."

"People will think you're conceited if you give that kind of answer. The other students will hate you." Despite this, John couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice, amused with Sherlock's arrogant answer.

The consulting detective curled up like a cat on his side and peered up at his flatmate. "They already do. Now, question one: how were you shot?"

John blinked. "Ah. You...you really want to know that?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

John leaned back again, settling himself against the pillows. "Well, our regiment was a small one, perhaps only twenty-five hundred. We were pretty outnumbered during our attack- massacred ten times over, it seemed. I was running to a comrade to pull him out of danger after his leg had been shot. I got hit in the right shoulder." He shrugged. "I was nineteen. I came back here to make my decision of what I wanted to do and decided on medicine. I have an army pension but it's not hefty enough to help with school all that much."

"Shouldn't the army cover your tuition?"

"Not with my plan and qualifications. It doesn't work quite so easily, Sherlock. Often people assume that being in the army means going into university free, but that's not necessarily the case. There are requirements of the university, the career, the tuition price, et cetera. I get a bit towards university, but as much as I'd like." John shrugged and smiled. "Hence the jobs at Bean There and with you. Next question?"

Sherlock was hesitant with this one but asked nonetheless. "Why did you say you were my colleague to Jim and Sebastian?"

"Well, aren't I?"

"Yes," continued Sherlock, seeming perhaps slightly uncomfortable- an intriguing notion to John, for Sherlock always seemed so collected and confident. "I introduced you as a friend and you corrected me."

John stared at him for a minute, and then sighed. "So _that's _what it was. Look, Sherlock, I didn't do it with any desire to hurt you, all right? It was done for stupid reasons, looking back on it. I mean...I almost felt like I should've. They came off as very sophisticated, and I guess that if I was to be associated with you, you'd want someone a little...I dunno. Someone better than a barista for a friend. 'Colleague' sounded a little better, because it established me as your partner when you go to crime scenes, not some college yuppie who hasn't got much going for him."

Sherlock broke in almost immediately. "I won't go into everything _wrong _with what you just said, John, but there is one major point that I'd like to highlight for you." He twisted his body around so that he could sit up and looked at John piercingly. "If I was ashamed of who you are I would've dropped you long ago. Incidentally, I find I wouldn't want you any other way, which is why I introduced you as my friend and not something detached like my 'colleague.' I wished to make such a connection to you in the hopes that you'd reciprocate because I am proud to have you as my friend. If I wasn't, I would've said so. I've been told I'm rather abrasive and often honest to a fault. You can trust the things I say."

John wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Sherlock's declaration or the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest. "Sherlock?" he finally said.

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #12: mahogany<p>

I only have 30 more prompts left in the 100Colors table...which means I get to move on to a new one. XD PSYCHED. It's often hard to work colors into these.


	71. Don't Need Luck

Anyone else find smug!Sherlock/ confident!Sherlock really, really sexy? (coughjohndoescough)

* * *

><p><strong>Don't Need Luck<strong>

John stood on the stoop, a paper bag in his hand. "If you don't leave now, you're going to be late," he called.

Sherlock swept into the hallway, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his coat and fixing his navy scarf. "Coming."

John held out the paper bag as Sherlock bounced down the steps lightly. "Here."

"Do I smell lemon pastries?"

John nodded. He'd woken up early to pick up a few. "Good luck," he said as Sherlock headed out.

Sherlock threw a confident grin over his shoulder that for some reason made John's stomach swoop. "Don't need it."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #13: lemon<p> 


	72. Ciao

Well, Mama's gotta have at least _one _weird pairing to ship and she's swooped gracefully into the Jim/Molly fandom and is completely convinced that Molly and Jim are secret cohorts and Molly is the best fucking actress on the planet or something, because she's got Sherlock convinced that she's a moron who changes her hair and lipstick to get him to notice her. I'm just like, "The hell?" and she's like, "It makes _so _much sense now." No more fanart/fanfiction for her.

* * *

><p><strong>Ciao<strong>

After John's classes, he headed off to Bean There for his shift. The crisp afternoon was October in full glory, with an endless cornflower blue sky above him and a breeze traipsing about him carelessly.

_Hope Sherlock does okay on his midterms, _he thought, but soon corrected himself. _Of course he did okay; he did better than okay. He'll come home and gloat about how easy it was, naturally. _In a strange, backward way, he found himself looking forward to it.

He'd almost made it to Bean There when he heard a voice drawling out a greeting: "_Ciaoooo_, John Watson."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #33: cornflower (I love this shade of blue :D Reminds me of quilts and flowers and skies)<p> 


	73. Serpent

Jim's not actually that much of a threat.

Right now, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>Serpent<strong>

John turned and recognized the young man, Jim, who'd been getting coffee just the day before. John recalled with uneasy clarity the excitement in Jim's voice at seeing Sherlock, nearly identical to his own- but there had been something off. John didn't know what it was, but it had set his senses on edge.

"_Wonderful _to see you again, John," Jim drawled, traces of the energetic yuppie transformed into something a little more urbane. If lime had been his color the other night, now he was serpent green.

"Hi," said John, a little uncomfortably.

"I need to ask you something."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #7: lime<p> 


	74. Defining Friend

Jim's probing. John's not entirely aware of it, but his dear old flatemate is being scoped out.

* * *

><p><strong>Defining "Friend"<strong>

"And that question is...?" John wanted this over with. He didn't feel comfortable around Sherlock's friend (friend? Was that what Jim was?), and it was chilly. He wanted to head for the comfort of Bean There and its smells of coffee, old books and oven-fresh pastries.

"What sort of relationship do you _really_ have with dear Sherlock, Mr. 'Colleague'?"

_Dear__ Sherlock? _thought John, slightly irked. He found himself glaring at Jim's mauve tie. _How close are they? Sherlock's hardly mentioned him._

"We're good friends, as well as colleagues," he said. "I go to crime scenes with him."

"I see."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #14: mauve<p>

Outrage of the Day: the editor for my article in the school newspaper changed two words in my article. With those two words, she made both sentences grammatically incorrect.

That I have better grammar than my editor says a lot about her. And that I actually edit the papers of more than half the editing staff (all friends, and besides, editing is fun) says a lot about them too.

Why didn't I try out for editor. Why, why, why...I mean, I know I have typing mistakes/grammar mistakes that are a result of me not checking my work, but that my own editor was unable to recognize something correct and made it incorrect...just not okay with me. Wonder if I can pull a coup d'état on the newspaper staff. :D

(I'm mostly kidding about this, it's not that big a deal. Just being a Grammar Nazi.)


	75. Unapproachable Topics

Sherlock will come back with the results of his test soon, for those who have been asking me.

* * *

><p><strong>Unapproachable Topics<strong>

John was able to find solace in the comfort of Bean There, escaping from Jim's probing questions. He was quite uncomfortable with the young man's unusual interest in his flatmate. "What's so great about that smug fool anyway?" he muttered as he headed into the back to grab his apron.

He calmed himself down with a scone and grape jam (though he would have preferred strawberry) and busying himself with cleaning.

But he was still distracted.

His keen senses were never wrong, and he felt uneasy about Sherlock's friend. But how he would tell Sherlock that, he had no idea.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #52: grape<p>

I'd hate to be in John's shoes. ^^"


	76. Conquering Hero

Ah...yeah. It's been a few days but I have an excuse. A good excuse. A handsome, attentive, loving, adorable, amazing excuse.

* * *

><p><strong>Conquering Hero<strong>

Sherlock bounded in with the pomp and circumstance of a conquering hero. "John," he called as he flung the door open, causing everyone in the cafe to turn and look at him, "I _aced _midterms. We're going out tonight to celebrate."

John's face, which had paled at the hurricane that was Sherlock exploding into the cafe, turned the color of rosy cotton candy. "Ah...sure. Great job, by the way, I knew you could do it."

John knew Sherlock had a weakness for flattery, but the pleased and triumphant flush on his flatmate's face never failed to make him grin.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #93: cotton candy<p> 


	77. Angelo's

...I'll try not to be so distracted by my, ah...distraction. Also, for the handful that have asked, said distraction isn't a puppy, hahaha.

* * *

><p><strong>Angelo's<strong>

Angelo's was a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant on Rosewood Street, somewhere John had often passed but never thought to stop inside of. Sherlock loved it, apparently, and this was _Sherlock, _who never seemed to eat much.

The owner, Angelo, waved Sherlock in and gestured at a window table-Sherlock's usual, John assumed, as the young man had a penchant for window seats.

"I think you'll like the food, John," said Sherlock. "Additionally, I get anything I want free."

"How'd you wrangle that?"

"Got me off a murder charge," said Angelo, winking.

"He was actually housebreaking," Sherlock murmured dryly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #53: Rosewood<p> 


	78. A Difference in Semantics

Sherlock's not being too obvious, right?

* * *

><p><strong>A Difference in Semantics<strong>

"I'll bring a candle for your table, Sherlock," said Angelo as he walked away. "More romantic."

John looked at Sherlock in mild alarm. "We're not dating. This isn't a date."

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh please, John. What do you mean, 'date'?"

"A _date_. You know, where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

Sherlock's eyebrows knit together and he gave John a puzzled look. "That's what we're doing."

"No, it's not. At least, I hope it's not."

Sherlock stared at one of the portraits in sepia lining the walls. "Differences in semantics, I like to think."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #68: sepia<p>

"Semantics" is a vocab word, and definitely one of my favorites! For those who aren't familiar with the word/its uses, when Sherlock says "Differences in semantics, I like to think", he's basically saying that John's interpretation of the word "date" isn't quite Sherlock's interpretation, and by his translation of it, yes, they're on a date.


	79. The Lioness and Her Cub

So.

I accidentally smashed my right hand through glass. It's kinda not in a great position at the moment for typing, so if I don't get around to reviews it's just because it tires my dominant hand out. I'll still release chapters (getting back to my normal pace) so don't worry, but I wanted to clarify so no one thinks I'm being unfriendly and whatnot.

And I've had a few guess correctly; the distraction I was referring to in earlier chapters was not a puppy, but a boyfriend. (Le gasp.)

* * *

><p><strong>The Lioness and her Cub<strong>

John watched Sherlock scarf down fettuccine alfredo with amusement. "You don't eat like this normally."

"Well, I'm _normally _on cases," said Sherlock once he'd swallowed. "I love Italian food. Addicted to it as a kid. Mummy tried so hard to wean me off it..."

_Mummy. _The elusive Mummy, the one John always heard about but had no experience with. Sherlock seemed to almost revere her. He imagined her cool and crisp like her son, with his dark hair and pale skin, but he'd always pictured her with golden eyes like a lion's: the color he thought her son should have.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #20: golden<p>

I know Sherlock's a panther, but sometimes I can picture him as a lion. Mmmm, maybe Mycroft a little more in that position. It seemed appropriate for some reason that their mother is a lioness. (Don't ask me why, hahaha.)


	80. Atmosphere

This chapter threw me for a doozy, what with my busted finger and not getting the atmosphere right the first...three times I attempted it. Hopefully once my finger heals up, things will get better.

* * *

><p><strong>Atmosphere<strong>

"Can't believe it's almost November," said John almost wistfully, leaning on his hand and looking out the front window of Angelo's. Sherlock, it seemed, had a preference for window seats and made sure he secured one in every restaurant.

"What's so hard to believe about it, John?" said Sherlock crisply, quickly scooping noodles into his mouth. "The passing of time isn't anything different than what's it's ever been."

John's eyes shifted to his flatmate, his face flickering in the light of the candle Angelo had placed in between them. It highlighted the strange contours of Sherlock's sharply defined face, casting shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones, creating dramatic contrasts of alabaster and dark gray beneath his eyes, on his forehead, and across his neck. John looked away.

_Now's the time to tell him if there ever was one_, he thought. _Just get it done with._

John opened his mouth to speak but found he was cut off by Sherlock, who had similarly started to state something but hadn't noticed John. "Jim," began Sherlock, "texted me earlier. Says he'd found information on a case I'd been curious about a few years back...ten years ago, was it? Yes."

John closed his mouth, a heaviness settling in his stomach. "...Oh. That's great, Sherlock. You want to tell me which case this was?"

"Ten years ago a young man by the name of Carl Powers died. Drowned in a swimming pool. He was a competitive swimmer. Everything matched up just right, really, but something had always lingered in the back of my mind as being _wrong, _John. And here, now I've been presented with information that could actually give this case a more sound resolution!"

"And can I ask where Jim got this information?"

Sherlock waved away John's comment with his fork. "Found old evidence records somewhere, he said."

"That doesn't sound quite right, Sherlock-"

"Oh John, does it _matter_?" asked Sherlock in exasperation. "I've already begun looking into it and everything Jim's given me so far has opened up new doors to this, and all of them correct."

John went silent, looking down at his spaghetti. "Right," he said after a moment. "That's great, then, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked almost wistful, if Sherlock could really look that way. "It's so nice to find another enthusiast, and a valuable one!"

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't I 'an enthusiast' too, Sherlock? I do go with you to every case. That takes quite a bit of enthusiasm."

"No, it's more or less obligation on your part. You're doing this for your paycheck."

John decided that it wasn't worth telling Sherlock that that was then; now he went to cases because he enjoyed it- the atmosphere, the people, being with Sherlock- hell, he even thought it was _fun._

He tried to ignore the bowling ball in his stomach and the desert in his mouth. "Sherlock...about Jim...I..."

Sherlock looked up at John expectantly, fork midway to his mouth.

John lost his courage. "Hope you two have fun."

"I'm sure we will," said Sherlock with a shrug, finishing the fork's path to his mouth.

John's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, trying to dispel the weight settling on his chest. _What the hell was that, John Watson..._

He peered at his phone and furrowed his brows.

_**You'll have to forgive him, dear John. He goes through phases like this where he can't recognize the importance of what's in front of him. Ask him about Christmas. MH**_

_...MH? Who's- ah. Mycroft. _John bit back a smile. _Well, whatever he's spouting off about now doesn't make much sense to me...how does he know my number, much less what we're...?_

He glanced around and sure enough caught a security camera winking merrily (well, in his mind it was, seeing as it was Mycroft) at him from a corner.

"Mycroft says to ask you about Christmas?" John said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

Sherlock looked almost taken aback. "...Can't imagine why. No, I can, actually. Do you have any plans, John?"

John considered this. "Ah, no. Not really. When I left for university I kind of lost touch with my mother and sister. We talk and all, but we don't really get together for holidays. It had never been a thing for us in the first place, though." He shrugged and took a sip of his tea.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair gracefully. "I see. Now, would you be opposed to going home with me for Christmas?"

John nearly spat out his drink. "You really want me to?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't. Clearly Mycroft wants you to go too. I daresay that my parents are rather eager to get their hands on you as well."

John suddenly had the image of a pride of lions or other wildcats prowling around him and he gave a little shudder. "Do they really."

"Oh yes. Mummy keeps asking when she's going to meet my 'new friend'. Mycroft must've let you out of the bag then, hmm?"

"It appears so," chuckled John, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Where does the Holmes family live?"

"A little ways outside of Devon," supplied Sherlock, finishing his food. "Are you going to finish your caesar salad?"

"No, you can have it."

Sherlock reached across the table and scooted John's salad over his way. "Thank you. Now John, I'm afraid you'll have to be subject to the interrogations of my family, for my entire extended shall be there, not just my nuclear. The small village outside of Devon that we live in isn't only Holmses, but it's a fair good lot of us. It was founded by a many-times great grandfather, so just about everyone is connected to a Holmes in some way or another."

John chuckled. "Sounds...quaint. And I'll be interrogated by all of you?"

"Most definitely."

"On what subject?"

"Everything."

"And how many of you are there?"

Sherlock smirked. "Ninety-seven."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #10: gray<p>

The chapter title is what it is because of the shifted atmosphere between them and as a nod to how much trouble I had trying to get it right. Mehhh.


	81. The Rainy Season

And time passes...

* * *

><p><strong>The Rainy Season<strong>

November sloshed into London with never-ending clouds and days spent inside. Sherlock and John attended their cases, John worked at Bean There when he wasn't at class or with Sherlock. Sherlock discovered an obsession with cranberries and insisted John get him plenty whenever he went grocery shopping. John resisted but always acquiesced.

Sherlock spent more and more time with Jim, often spending hours with his enthusiastic, mercurial classmate at his window seat in Bean There. John hated that he was more than a bit put out to see Sherlock happier with Jim than he'd ever been with him before.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #26: cranberry<p> 


	82. Phase

Hello, all,

First I'd like to apologize for the delay in my writing and would like to say that I a) haven't disappeared, b) haven't died, and c) haven't lost interest in Tea Leaves.

My delay comes from a few factors including general business, but mostly from scarring and a torn ligament in my dominant hand which affects everything from my eating ability to my writing to my typing. I'm trying to save my energy for schoolwork (I _am_ still in high school- you know, that rather useless hellhole where they give you lots of work and no life skills?) and speaking of which, I'm getting a C in a class, which is really out of the ordinary for me and stressing me out.

With that, in addition to the suicide of a family member and the recent loss of a friend to brain cancer, it's been kind of hard to get my creative fluff-juices flowing. Needless to say, The Boyfriend is helping me get myself back on track and is encouraging me to write again because it will help me feel better.

Right! Hope to get back on schedule soon, all. I haven't forgotten you, and I still love all of you.

Regards,

Aralas

* * *

><p><strong>Phase<strong>

"It's a phase," said a voice behind John mildly.

John turned around, tearing his eyes away from an enthused Sherlock and Jim discussing a case with Lestrade (Jim was often consulted, for he was eager to help and was brilliant in a way John wasn't).

Mycroft sat on the back counter, straightening a beige tie. John didn't even bother to ask how he'd gotten there."What do you mean by that?"

"Sherlock always loved his new, shiny toys," purred Mycroft. "They distracted him as long as he could dissect them, puzzle over them...but he always returned to his favorites."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #43: beige<p> 


	83. Teasing

Doing better. Thank you all for your kind words! They really mean the world to me and keep me going when I need it most. I love you all!

* * *

><p><strong>Teasing<strong>

"I'm not his toy," remarked John waspishly, turning to make a latte.

"But you are his best friend."

"Sherlock's best friend is Jim, now."

"Poppycock." Mycroft sauntered over to where John was now working and politely tucked the tag in on the back of John's blue-violet shirt. "Sherlock may _think _Jim is his new best friend but Sherlock has no reason to say such a thing."

"Except that he spends hours with him _every day_..."

"This little domestic will blow over soon, I hope. Can't have you two distant for too long; throws off equilibrium."

John snickered. Mycroft winked.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #58: blue violet<p> 


	84. Singing Like a Canary

Ooh, watch your step, Mycroft.

* * *

><p><strong>Singing Like a Canary<strong>

Sherlock just happened to glance over at the counter and he saw, of all people, Mycroft (_Mycroft, how the _hell_ did Mycroft sneak in without him noticing? Slippery bastard_)...chatting with John.

Chatting?

A strange heat snapped its way up Sherlock's throat as he stared at his brother, who was smiling and bantering easily with John. John was also grinning and chuckling, his face happier than Sherlock had seen it in weeks.

_He's gone so quiet around me and all it takes is Mycroft practically assaulting him- look how close he's standing!- to get him singing like a canary?_ His brows knitted.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #75: canary<p> 


	85. Unfortunate Implications

Oops...nice going, John.

* * *

><p><strong>Unfortunate Implications<strong>

"Having fun with Mycroft, John?" Sherlock asked that night.

John looked up at Sherlock as he blew out the candle Mrs. Hudson had bought them ("To cover up the smell of all those chemicals," she'd said- _And the smell of cadaver_, John had thought wryly- as she'd handed him a pink candle labeled "Dusty Rose").

"He's friendly."

"Certainly." Sherlock let the bite creep into the edge of his voice.

"I'm sure you have more important things to do than consider my relationship with your brother," said John, only realizing a second later, as Sherlock's brows rose, what that'd sounded like.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #45: dusty rose<p> 


	86. Not a Joking Matter

You know Sherlock would be pissed, hahaha.

We're going to be coming up to the Holmes Family Christmas arc soon! :3 First John has to confess his uneasiness about Jim and set a bit of a new story in motion. Tea Leaves will take a more serious turn later on but will return to its fluffiness, really; I've had quite a few people say they love the lightheartedness of this story and it's a nice break from the other Sherlock stories that are much darker.

* * *

><p><strong>Not a Joking Matter<strong>

John glowered at the table.

Sherlock smirked, stabbing his fork into his carrot cake and slipping some into his mouth. "Eat your dinner, John, or I won't let you have dessert."

"Don't treat me like you're my mother."

"Don't be so pouty. I don't care about your 'relations' with Mycroft."

John spluttered and fumed but said nothing, turning red.

Sherlock would've known if John and Mycroft were dating; he'd gone through John's phone and found nothing. If he had, it would have been far from a joking matter, which is why he was able to tease his flatmate about it.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #90: carrot<p> 


	87. All to Ourselves

My youngest sister found all my VHS recordings of Pinky and the Brain from the 90's...it was fun. :D

* * *

><p><strong>All to Ourselves<strong>

Mrs. Hudson left during the last rungs of November to visit relatives in America for their Thanksgiving holiday for two weeks, tottering out the door with her enormous periwinkle suitcase and instructions for the boys to "be good and look after the place, there's a dear!"

"We've got the place to ourselves now," said John a little wistfully as Mrs. Hudson's cab disappeared down the road. "What do you want to do?"

"Trash it."

"Sherlock..."

"Blow it up."

"...Sherlock..."

"The same thing we do every night, John," Sherlock chuckled. "Try to take over the worl-"

"Don't even go there, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #64: periwinkle<p> 


	88. Dinner

Mmmm. Tiramisu. I make killer tiramisu; bet nobody guessed that about me. :O

* * *

><p><strong>Dinner<strong>

They bought tiramisu from Tea Leaves using John's employee discount and set to work preparing dinner: eggplant lasagna, salad, and sauteed mushrooms. John did the cooking and let Sherlock prepare the ingredients like getting the cheese from the fridge or slicing the vegetables, remembering the mishap of the explosion from the pan the last time he let him cook. Sherlock pouted and debated and claimed that he felt like a five-year-old but John quickly countered that because he couldn't even make toast without destroying it, he was less than a five year old. Sherlock accepted this answer sullenly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #78: eggplant<p> 


	89. Follow

Oh John. Don't you recognize why?

* * *

><p><strong>Follow<strong>

At one point, so as not to get sauce on his new violet jumper, John slipped his Bean There apron over his head. He was throwing together the dressing with the salad when he suddenly felt a tug.

Surprised, he glanced back to find Sherlock there, clenching a fork between his teeth, tying the apron strings into a bow. John closed his eyes as the small of his back suddenly felt hyper-sensitized, attempting to rid himself of the tingling feeling.

"There we go," said Sherlock after a moment, walking away. John had to fight himself not to follow him.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #5: violet<p>

I have the awkward and terrible American problem of calling jumpers, "sweaters". Sorry to all the UK readers. When I was growing up, I always knew a jumper to be a dress-looking-thing that children wear, or perhaps the awkward orange/back-and-white striped jumpsuits that prisoners donned. It's a slow adjustment. Thanks for being patient with me :)


	90. Irreplaceable

Sherlock's beginning to figure things out. Faster than John is for sure.

* * *

><p><strong>Irreplaceable<strong>

"Splendid job, John. I commend your cooking abilities."

John looked across the table at Sherlock and smirked. "Couldn't have done it without my handy-dandy assistant. You're quite skilled at grating cheese and slicing vegetables."

Small praise though it was, Sherlock looked smug, shifting contentedly in his seat. John couldn't help but notice that his flatmate's collar was mussed, blooming around his neck like an orchid, his tie undone and hanging loosely. John clenched a fist, squelching the sudden urge to reach over and straighten them.

He didn't know why he had such (bothersome) urges towards Sherlock. Or perhaps he knew and was just ignoring them.

Sherlock stabbed his fork into the lasagna and took a bite. "In all seriousness, though, thank you. It's thanks to you that I've developed better eating habits and have more stamina. Plus, thanks to your skills, my paycheck manages to stick around a little longer." Sherlock looked up and gave a ghost of a smile, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I never knew you'd turn out to be so useful."

"What a thing to say to your trustworthy and ever-faithful assistant," grumbled John, only half-serious. "I stick with you through rain and snow and wade through red tape and murder cases and all you're grateful for is my domestic capabilities."

When Sherlock didn't answer, John looked up from his plate and felt his breath catch.

It was gone in an instant but the look reflected on Sherlock's face was the warmest and most openly happy that John had ever seen it. "I'd forgotten how much you make me want to laugh," he said mildly, slipping back into the disinterested persona quickly.

John quickly looked back down, pretending to be transfixed by kalamata olives and romaine lettuce. "Why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Laugh."

John glanced up to find his flatmate watching him curiously. "I do. When I feel like it."

To that John had no answer, for enough had been said.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Upon discovering that Mrs. Hudson was a fan of action movies, John eagerly browsed her collection while Sherlock stood by, content with watching anything.

As John sorted through DVDs, Sherlock pulled his phone form his pocket when he felt a buzz.

_**Dinner and a movie? Seems an awful lot like a date. MH**_

Sherlock glanced lazily around the flat without moving, knowing that Mycroft had spyware all over the place but not finding himself too concerned with it (It's _Mycroft_, he thought cattily).

_You don't know anything. SH_

**_I know that you haven't been giving John the attention and appreciation he deserves for putting up with you and being your only friend. MH_**

This made Sherlock's hackles raise a bit but he didn't want to let Mycroft know. _I have friends outside of John. Give my social skills a bit more credit. SH_

**_I will deign to raise your social skills to higher esteem than a piranha's. MH_**

"Sherlock, what do you think about this one?" asked John, holding up a DVD box.

Sherlock barely glanced at it. "I am indifferent, John; whatever you wish to watch I will deign to endure." _Dammit, I sound like Mycroft._

**_You're beginning to sound like me. MH_**

_Shut up. Jim is a friend. SH_

_**Jim is a temporary distraction that is fascinating you because he is different than John and more like you. But you certainly don't need another Sherlock. No one does, for that matter. Good Lord, can you imagine what kind of hell would break loose? MH**_

_You overextend your boundaries. Who I choose to spend my time with is not any of your business. SH_

**_John doesn't like him. MH_**

This gave Sherlock pause as he glanced up at his flatmate again, who was debating between two movies, figuratively weighing each in a different hand.

**_And neither do I. I have a bad sense about him. So does John, and we both know to trust John's senses, I hope. MH_**

_I do not have a solid grasp on John's methods of character judgement. SH_

**_Excuses. MH_**

_Logic. SH_

**_Cowardice. MH_**

_Pragmatism. How could John know anything? He's barely talked to Jim. Jim thinks like me. I've needed someone who thinks like me. He gives me what no one else can. SH_

**_That's not what you need. MH_**

Sherlock turned off his phone as John decided on a movie and turned around, smiling at him. _I think I know what I need, Mycroft._

xXxXxXxXxXx

"I didn't realize you were so sentimental, John."

"But- but-! He died! Who will his son live with now?"

"Why are you so flustered? It's a movie."

"Don't you _care_?"

"About an actor in a fictional story? No."

"What if he was a real person?"

"Again, no. People find their ways, John..." Sherlock hopped up from the couch and ejected the disc to put it back in the case, leaving John with the bowl of snacks that they'd shared during the movie.

"It would be best if you get some sleep, now, John. Don't you have a test tomorrow?"

John nodded, stretching and yawning. He hesitated, and Sherlock could practically see the thought flicking across his face: _And you have a case. A case you're not bringing me to. A case you've decided to bring Jim to instead._

Sherlock felt a twinge of uneasiness settle in his stomach. He turned around and stalked pompously towards the mantle where he kept his skull, trying to hide his discomfort and the uncharacteristic decision he was about to make. "It's going to be a busy day tomorrow, John."

"Ah...yes. I'm sure it will be." The hesitancy and strange quality of loneliness in John's tone made Sherlock's chest tighten.

"I need you at the crime scene tomorrow at six. I'll text you the address."

John's voice showed his surprise. "Wait...what? I thought you were bringing...Jim."

Sherlock turned around, making swift and sure eye contact with his flatmate, pinning him in place. "Jim hasn't taken your spot, John. You're coming with me tomorrow. He's not."

A slow smile slipped onto John's face. Sherlock, in turn, felt something within him shift.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #63: orchid<p> 


	91. He Smells of Pine

Nothing like shared clothing. I love wearing my boyfriend's jackets and he likes me wearing them; I like having something that smells like him and he likes getting back something that smells like me. I wonder why the olfactory sense is so prominent in attraction?

I mentioned in chapter 24 that Sherlock smells faintly of pine (it's in his soap). He also smells like awesome, I'm sure.

* * *

><p><strong>He Smells of Pine<strong>

This was the last straw.

John shook his head and tried to snap his attention back to his professor, who was giving a critical lesson on brain trauma. However, as his his classmates typed or scribbled down notes, John found himself playing with a thick black jacket between his fingers.

"Shit. Sherlock, did you put the laundry in?"

_"No."_

_"I asked you to last night, Sherlock! Dammit, I don't want to wear the jumpers I've been wearing for two weeks straight..." _

_"Take my jacket." _

John inhaled the scent lingering on the jacket deeply and closed his eyes. _I'm in trouble._

* * *

><p>Prompt was #49: straw<p>

I'd like to extend my gratitude and love to all those who stick with me and are so kind even though my updating schedule is shoddy. -_- I'm going to have a sixteen-day break off of school and hopefully then I'll be able to get more chapters in. :) To those who even review for me, thank you times a million gazillion. You make my day light up when I see your kind words showing up in my inbox.

On another note, I got a review not long ago by a reviewer who was not logged in (or perhaps doesn't have an account) who called herself Catrina Marlowe. She left the following review on chapter six:

"Aside from the fact that each 'chapter' was only a few sentences long, I was enjoying this until: Inconveniences

Then you seemed to forget both Sherlock and Mycroft were British and morphed them into Americanisms and I stopped reading.

If you can assure me you made a temporary error and they return to being themselves in the next chapter, I shall resume reading and reviewing. If not, I shall, I'm sad to say, not."

I'm sorry to say that I'm not entirely sure what she could be referring to in this chapter. Would you guys like to help me out? I mean, I know that it's just one reviewer who may not even have an account, but I'm curious now.


	92. Without You With Him

John's back in action!

* * *

><p><strong>Without You With Him<strong>

Sherlock's eyes were an eerie shade of turquoise in the flashing police lights, John noted as he walked towards the crime scene. Lestrade's eyes lit up and he said, "John! Good to have you back."

John chuckled. "Nice to be back." He glanced up at Sherlock, who was staring at a tabletop of evidence laid outside the house where a murder had occurred.

As Sherlock rambled off all his conclusion drawn from the items before him to whomever was taking notes, Lestrade leaned in secretively and said, "To be honest, he doesn't seem like Sherlock anymore without you with him."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #24: turquoise<p> 


	93. Gold and Iron

John is a different sort of significant. Sherlock- and others- have to keep this in mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Gold and Iron<strong>

John wasn't stupid; many forgot that when he was around Sherlock because his flatmate was brilliant; a kind of brilliant that made John's own talents seem simple in comparison. Admittedly, he was rather unremarkable compared to Sherlock, but he wasn't useless, nor was he unreceptive.

Quietly, as Sherlock puzzled over a piece of the puzzle that he seemed to be missing, John reminded him to consider human habit and conformist situations. Sherlock's eyes lit up and he took his train of thought on a new track.

If Sherlock was gold, John was iron- not as pretty but just as valuable.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #20: gold<p> 


	94. Grateful

John saved the day! Sherlock is grateful.

It makes sense that being around Sherlock enough causes John to start seeing things a little differently, start to hone his observation skills. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Grateful<strong>

Sherlock felt guilty, which was peculiar for him.

John had practically solved the last piece of this case for him with a reminder of something as human as how sloppily people organize their wallets. It hadn't even crossed Sherlock's mind, for whatever reason, but he knew that he hated conventional methods of reasoning such as relying on habits that some didn't even have.

Sherlock looked at John, feeling a cerise flush creep up.

_I'd be struggling over this until the morning if it hadn't been for him. ...Well, that's something I'd never thought I'd say._

_I'm glad he was here._

* * *

><p>Prompt was #99: writer's choice (cerise)<p> 


	95. Far From Done

Well, I'm about to leave for about three days to do some housesitting, so I wanted to give this to y'all before I left.

* * *

><p><strong>Far From Done<strong>

On the edge of the crime scene, a little ways beyond the yellow tape that marked its boundaries, there was a sleek black car with tinted windows stopped on the street across from it.

"..._Dull._" The passenger in the back, reclining on tan leather seats, slammed the laptop he was on shut, stealing all the illumination from his face.

"I just don't understand how he would choose someone so _boring _over me."

The driver of the car looked back lazily. "You done yet, Jim?"

Jim Moriarty leaned back into streetlamp light streaming into his car and smiled.

"Far from done."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #19: tan<p> 


	96. Affection

Another chapter to tickle your fancy. :3

* * *

><p><strong>Affection<strong>

**_Two weeks later..._**

"_Hurry_, John..."

"Look, Sherlock, I am being _practical _and _reasonable _and _well-prepared_..."

"We have everything you could want; I don't think you even needed to pack."

"If that's the case, then why did _you_ pack?"

"...No matter, just take your time, then, John..."

"You think my head is just full of dandelion fluff but when I present you with your own hypocritical-"

"Now, John, don't get all in a huff." John bristled at the smirk in Sherlock's voice, whirling around, but Sherlock shoved a argyle jumper into John's indignant hands.

_Yes...they'll like him very much. _Sherlock smiled quietly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #25: dandelion<p> 


	97. Coming Home

The Christmas arc begins :3 Sorry that it's being published _after _the holiday season!

* * *

><p><strong>Coming Home<strong>

"You know, you never told me the name of the town your family lives in."

Sherlock glanced at John, acknowledging that he'd heard the question. He settled back in his seat and responded, "Marview. Fishing town. My father likes the water. Healthy climate down here, he says; we're just a few miles off of Torquay."

It was not snowing but rather raining and visibility was poor. John stopped trying to observe the outside, its colors drained to an ashy gray, and focused instead on the butterflies in his stomach. _I'm meeting his family._

The cab stopped.

Sherlock smiled. "John...home."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #97: Writer's Choice: ash<p> 


	98. Reason for the Flatshare

Going the direction that so many Holmes-Home fics go, because it's really the only way I can imagine it.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason for the Flatshare<strong>

Sherlock swept out of the car, opening a conspicuous spring green umbrella (another gift from Mycroft) which was immediately pelted by rain. John opened his own umbrella and stepped out, trying not to get his suitcase wet.

He swallowed heavily.

At the end of the drive was one of the largest Victorian houses he had ever seen. No, _house _wasn't the right word. This was clearly a mansion.

"I was unaware of your...affluence," John said finally. "Why did you need a flatshare with me, again?"

"I didn't. You did." Sherlock let a ghost of a smile cross his face.

* * *

><p>Prompt was #98: Writer's Choice: spring green<p>

I'm going to talk about Season 2 very briefly, with no spoilers to plot but mild spoilers to the slash. Nothing too revealing, and only good news :)

So I've been able to watch "A Scandal in Belgravia" and "Hound of the Baskervilles" and I must say, they are amazing. On "Scandal": I really enjoyed Irene and Mofftiss's interesting interpretation of her. She truly was a good character to match Sherlock's wits. Some people were a bit unsettled with the obvious slam against the slash-crowd with the undertones of the episode, but... On "Hound": If "Scandal" quashed the slash, "Hound" brought it back with explosive force. There is less of the "are-they-or-aren't-they" tension we so loved in season one and dear me, I have never seen their chemistry better. It's like John, the one who was always protesting, has just said "Oh fuck it" and let people think whatever they want, and he seems to be rolling with this well. Sherlock is opening up and showing some pretty obvious attachment towards John- if you're on Tumblr at all, then you'll have seen the GIFs of the hesitant smiles, proud glances, and trusting looks. Both episodes were artistic and brilliant and, dare I say, even better than series one.

(By the way; for anyone who's interested, I do have a Tumblr. yupthatsmysock(dot)tumblr(dot)com)


	99. Mummy

I hope I do an okay job with Anita's character. She's already giving me trouble O_O

* * *

><p><strong>Mummy<strong>

"Look at him, Mycroft. He's so _cute_."

"Sherlock won't appreciate your terminology, Mummy, though he doubtlessly agrees with you."

Anita Holmes peered out her bedroom window, eyes following her youngest son and his best friend, who was gaping in a graceless but adorable fashion at the Holmes mansion. "Excellent judgement, Mycroft. I almost didn't believe you when you called in September to say Sherlock was bringing home a friend for Christmas."

Mycroft preened, straightening his amethyst tie. "You and Father be gentle with him, now. I'm sure he's terrified."

"We'll play nice."

"Well...go and greet your guest then, Mummy."

* * *

><p>Prompt was #100: Writer's Choice: amethyst<p> 


	100. Introductions

And ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the 100th chapter.

At this monumental point for me, I would just like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, advised me, and supported me. You've all been fabulous, and I am so flattered and grateful to have such kind and enthusiastic readers. It really lights up my life to hear how much you all enjoy Tea Leaves, and I love being able to share something I love with you. It's truly a highlight of my day to see a subscription alert, a review, or a favorite alert arrive in my inbox- it shows someone is enjoying my writing and sharing my dream with me.

Thank you for your amazingness, and on with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Introductions<strong>

"Am I even dressed properly?" John hissed as they neared the doors. He glanced up and saw a curtain ruffle on the second floor. He swallowed nervously, wondering who could have been watching them.

"I refuse to reassure you over such a trite anxiety," Sherlock said haughtily, striding confidently up the stairs. The door swung open before they reached it and Sherlock nodded his thanks to a butler.

A _butler. _John shut his eyes. Gracious, this was getting more surprising by the minute.

"My mother will be home, doubtless, but my father will be returning in the evening," said Sherlock as he shed his coat and scarf gracefully, handing them to the butler with a natural motion. John dithered, slowly slipping off his coat and awkwardly holding onto it until the butler gave him a small look indicating that he should hand it over. "You'll see a stronger resemblance between me and her than with Mycroft. He looks more like our father."

They entered a foyer with an enormous winding staircase, the likes John had only seen in films. The foyer gave the feel for what the rest of the house was like: elegant, yet lived-in and comfortable, with a recurring theme of a deep, wine-red color and gold. Landscapes in brass frames decorated the walls. John noticed a wooden table with a small clock and pictures. His eyes were torn away from the image of a dark-haired, pale adolescent when he heard a voice call, "Sherlock!"

At the top of the stairs was a woman. She quickly began to descend and with each rotation, John got more glimpses of her: alabaster skin; dark hair; snatches of facial features; glinting jewelry. Sherlock's face was slowly stretching into a smile- an affectionate, genuine smile, John noted happily.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and as she strode toward them, John realized just who this was.

She was practically a female version of his flatmate, but her eyes were a rich brown color instead of Sherlock's crystal blue. Everything else was the same- the sharp angles of her face and body, her fair skin, her shadowy curls, her full lips, a nose that almost looked out of place but seemed to suit her well. She wrapped her arms around Sherlock.

"Hello, Mummy."

"You don't come home enough." Her voice was similar to Sherlock's confident purr but lacked the snark he so often slipped in; hers was more gentle and affectionate.

"I'm sure Mycroft is keeping you updated."

"Of course, but it's not the same."

John shifted, folding his hands.

Sherlock glanced at him. "Mummy, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Sherlock's mother pulled away from her son and approached John, who took her appearance in in more detail. He noticed faint smile lines around her eyes and mouth, but they weren't obvious. There was a touch of silver in her chestnut locks, near the temples. She was probably just past fifty, John guessed.

"Mummy, this is John, my flatmate and assistant. John, this is Anita Holmes...my mother."

John held his hand out to shake but suddenly found himself pulled into a surprisingly strong embrace for so slender a woman. It was a warm hug that smelled of lilac and hand cream.

"John," she said when she released him, ignoring his stunned look, "we're so happy to have you here. Welcome to Marview, and welcome to our home."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"John, you're going to be in the Glass Room; it's the room conjoined with Sherlock's. It's a shared bathroom in between the two. I'm sorry you're not getting your own; if you'd like me to move you I can put Sherlock's cousin Joseph there instead."

John didn't respond immediately; he was transfixed by the long hallways lined with bedrooms and parlors, elegantly painted portraits adorning the walls, and the quick glimpse of a magnificent library. "Ah, no, that will be just fine. Wait, did you say the 'glass room'? Am I going to have to watch out for...?"

Anita looked over her shoulder and smiled. "The 'Glass' in the name is for a large stained-glass window we had installed when Sherlock was two. A cathedral in Germany was being remodeled and they were taking it out. Sherlock's father was visiting and decided to bring it back with him when he heard they were just going to get rid of it."

Mycroft's voice appeared behind John, making him jump. "It's a lovely addition and filters the sunlight nicely."

"Jesus, Mycroft, no need to go all assassin on me. You could at least warn me that you're there." John's remark caused a smug smirk to cross Mycroft's face.

Upon reaching the Glass Room, Anita handed him a key. "Just in case you'd like some privacy," she said as she opened the door.

John stepped in and set his suitcase down on the floor. Plushly decorated and cozy, the room was bathed in a warm light from the wrought-iron chandelier hanging just past the four-poster bed. There were a few scattered chairs, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and there- the stained glass window. The gloomy day took away some of the splendor but John could tell that it was beautifully crafted, with intricate details on every inch. It did not have any icons, but rather was a blend of colors and shapes, like a kaleidoscope.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Thank you."

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour, and the family will start arriving in fifteen minutes," Anita informed him, leaning against the door frame. "I'll make sure Sherlock sticks close by so you don't get pounced upon."

"Ah, yes, I'd be grateful for that."

"I have to thank you, John."

John was bewildered. "Whatever for?"

Anita was quiet, but she smiled softly. "From what Mycroft has told me, you've been a dear friend to Sherlock. He needs that more than he'll ever acknowledge. Thank you for being that person for him."

"It's my honor," John said with a smile

* * *

><p>Prompt was #15: lilac<p>

I am now officially completed with this table of prompts! On to the next one hundred :) Got any suggestions for what the next one hundred prompts should be? If anyone knows of any good ones I'd be thrilled to take a look at them.


	101. Grand Tour

Hello again!

Now for prompts, I'm doing something a little different. Through another chain of authors, I'll be getting a few prompts, and in addition, I'd like to extend this to the reader: if you'd like it, please feel free to leave me a prompt in the comments (I allow anonymous reviews as well)! Prompts can be objects, ideas, themes, colors, adjectives...anything you can think of.

Thanks in advance...I really have the best readers ever. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Grand Tour<strong>

John got a quick shower and changed into a fresh jumper. He moved toward the door, but shyness overtook him when he heard voices distantly in the hall. Anita _had _said that some of the family would start arriving within fifteen minutes.

It took a concentrated effort not to retreat into a corner and hide out for the rest of the night.

_I'm Captain John Watson, _he thought stubbornly, pulling open the door. He was greeted by Mycroft, whose hand was outstretched as if reaching for the handle.

"Mycroft! God…"

"Hello, John. I'm here to give you the grand tour."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from CrazyLara, and it was "Concentrate."<p> 


	102. The Summer Room

I would love to see the Holmes House in person...

* * *

><p><strong>The Summer Room<strong>

Mycroft was talking too fast for John to remember what names he was giving to each room, but they had names like "The Spring Room," "The Summer Room", "The Sunlight Hall," among other things. John's favorite that he had seen was the Summer Room, with its sky blue walls, plush green carpet, embroidered yellow furniture, airy atmosphere, and painted pictures of Mycroft and Sherlock as children on the walls. He had paused to look at one, taking in a scene with an orange-haired Mycroft sitting with a toddler-aged Sherlock on the beach, looking happier than John had ever seen him.

* * *

><p>Prompt is from my sister Magdalene, and it was "Seasons."<p> 


	103. Focus

Anyone seen The Reichenbach Fall yet?

* * *

><p><strong>Focus<strong>

Mycroft seemed to forget from time to time that he didn't have an umbrella and would instinctively start to swing his hand when he was gesturing to something, trying to point at it with his brolly, but would smoothly cover this movement. John was becoming a little more focused on that when Mycroft said mildly, "I assumed you would have been fascinated by this, John."

John snapped into focus and found his eyes magnetized to a portrait of a teenaged Sherlock hanging on the hallway wall. "…Oh."

The same crystal eyes and serious face transposed on a teen. John smiled.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my sister Siena, and it was "Portrait."<p> 


	104. Sentimental Attachment

I have a secret weakness for libraries, unfortunately. At the same time, I love my Kindle. AM I A HYPOCRITE, GUYS

* * *

><p><strong>Sentimental Attachment<strong>

"Where _is_ Sherlock, Mycroft?" asked John as they continued to the library. Mycroft strolled in and John followed, his eyes widening. John enjoyed reading but had no spare time for it and the massive walls of books almost gave him vertigo.

"I have little interest in what Sherlock is doing. Knowing him, he's probably prowling around the halls, checking to see what's changed. He hates it if anything in this house shifts; it's probably the only thing in the world he has sentimental attachment to."

Mycroft glanced at John, who didn't notice, absorbed in books. "Well…one of the only things."

* * *

><p>Mycroft totes knows. He's secretly got a bunch of mock-up wedding invitations for Sherlock and John, but he can't decide which one he likes best.<p>

Prompt was from my mother, and it is "Prowl."


	105. Intimidation Factor

YOU GUYS SEE WHAT I DID THERE

* * *

><p><strong>Intimidation Factor<strong>

John's attention was yanked away from a lovingly-cared for, signed copy of _The Hobbit_ by a bell he heard rung in the far corner of the room. He looked to Mycroft questioningly. The elder Holmes brother said, "Dinner. We have a system of bells to alert guests as to when meals are ready."

John felt panic settle in his stomach. "Where's Sherlock? Your mother promised he'd stay with me—"

Mycroft smirked. "John, please, you sound like a nervous schoolgirl at her first dance."

"I'm a little intimidated."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow sardonically.

"…Okay, I'm really intimidated," John admitted sheepishly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my dad, and it was "Panic."<p> 


	106. First Impressions

Sherlock's clearly got a thing for jumpers.

* * *

><p><strong>First Impressions<strong>

John was sure he'd be lost in this house before long. Mycroft knew his way around easily (not that John was surprised). They soon encountered Sherlock, examining an intricately embroidered lampshade.

"It's time for dinner," said Mycroft peevishly, straightening the tilted lampshade as Sherlock stood. As usual, both Holmes brothers were wearing suits, but John suddenly felt a twinge of concern.

"Am I underdressed?" he asked.

"Everyone will be arriving in whatever they choose to arrive in," Sherlock said vaguely. "Don't change." He looked a little embarrassed. "This…this is how I want them to see you for the first time."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my sister, Seaton, and it was "Lampshade."<p> 


	107. Family Gathering

I love big families. I come from a big family, so when I go to gatherings that don't have a ton of people, it feels really...quiet and non-chaotic.

* * *

><p><strong>Family Gathering<strong>

John couldn't tell if he was underdressed or not—when he came in, the crowd of people sitting down at the table was so mismatched that it looked like a costume party.

He saw some men and women in dress clothes, others in casual jumpers and jeans, and even one girl in her teens walking around barefoot and in sweatpants.

No one seemed to notice John much, and if they did, they gave him a brief once-over and returned to finding a seat at the expansive table.

"There's a lot of you," said John to Sherlock.

"This isn't even half."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my sister, Siena, and it was "Costume Party."<p> 


	108. Stuffed

...Hi.

I owe you all an explanation...one excuse I have is that I have to pass junior year, and that's probably the only good excuse...I shouldn't even really list the others cos they're just irrelevant and not nearly as suitable as "I have to pass school", lol. There were some problems with my (now ex-) boyfriend that kind of kept me distracted from writing (it's a great idea to go out with your best friend when you plan on marrying them, but not when you want to just test the waters with dating...from my experience).

Without further ado...

* * *

><p><strong>Stuffed<strong>

John was stuffed.

He leaned back in his chair and turned to Sherlock, grinning. "That," he said, "was absolutely amazing."

"Indeed," agreed Sherlock passively, pushing his plate away from himself and leaning back also. "I haven't eaten so well in quite a while."

"...If you'd just let me cook for you once in a while instead of starving yourself or eating takeout-!" began John peevishly until he caught the sly smile on Sherlock's face.

"No," he said, "you're right, John; I need to let you showcase your culinary skills more. Your cooking is delicious, you know."

"I do now," chuckled John.

* * *

><p>Prompt was reflekshun's March prompts: passive<p> 


	109. Most of All

John's missing a sibling and hopes Sherlock realizes how lucky he is to have an older brother who cares in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Most of All<strong>

"So who's who here, hmm?"

Sherlock waved broadly. "If you want details, I could give you a list of names, but it would be quite tedious and you're not going to meet all of them anyway."

"I'm not?"

"No. There's too many. I only get to spend time with a portion, so I try to give that portion the quality time they deserve."

"We'll make time," said John enthusiastically. "…You really love your family- I've never heard you say that you'd give anyone 'the quality time they deserve.'"

"Yes. Except Mycroft."

"I think you love Mycroft most of all."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: "We'll make time."<p> 


	110. People Watching

...I already forgot my 100/1000 format. XD

So, here is the re-posted Chapter 110...thanks for being patient with me!

* * *

><p><strong>People Watching<strong>

After dinner was fruit and dessert wine that left John's mouth feeling warm. Sherlock pointed out family members.

"My grandmother, Helen," he said, pointing to an elegant woman with white hair. "The triplets- Alexander, Geoffrey, and Liza- are visiting from Geneva. The one in the pajamas is my cousin Eva and the one next to her is her sister Rachel, and the one whose hair looks like an unplowed field is Nigel, Rachel's fiancee."

John was taking mental notes. "Alexander, Geoffrey, Liza, Eva, Rachel, Nigel," he repeated, smiling when he saw Nigel drawing patterns on Rachel's forearm with his fingers.

Sherlock, at John's request, went through every other family member seated at the table (barely taking a breath between names and descriptions, John noted with amusement) and pointed out in particular his favorite cousins: a lanky, smartly-dressed young man no older than thirty and his teenaged sister.

"Marco and his sister, Marian," said Sherlock, pointing to the pair sitting next to each other. Something that was common with the Holmes family, John was beginning to realize, was the stark difference often found between siblings. Marco was dark-haired and dark-eyed and obviously cared very much about his appearance, as every detail about him seemed clean cut. He wore a very precise midnight blue suit and had his dark hair swept black from his face. He was talking quietly to his little sister.

Marian was a strawberry blond slip of a girl wearing a jumper-dress and a hoodie. While Marco was a bit more swarthy-skinned, she had the same natural pallor as Sherlock. She couldn't have been more than nineteen years old.

"What makes them your favorites?" John asked Sherlock, observing the two. They acted no differently from the rest of the family as far as he could tell; they ate their food and talked, and once Marian checked her mobile and tied her hair back into a ponytail. She had one piece of hair that kept falling out of her hair tie and it clearly annoyed her.

Sherlock shrugged. "They never fail to interest me."

**xXxXxXxXx**

After the meal the family went to the spacious living room. John was rather transfixed by all the portraits of the family and the enormous crystal chandelier but Sherlock quickly pulled him about, saying hello to his family and introducing John as his flatemate, assistant, and friend.

John had never felt so shy under the gazes of Sherlock's family. Anita would check up on the two of them, always treating John as if he were a part of their clan or as if he'd been coming with Sherlock to family gatherings for years.

John was able to see a resemblance; most of the Holmeses had dark or red hair, and blue eyes seemed to be a common trait. Most were fairly tall, and almost all of them- married or biological family- had high, sharp cheekbones.

_Like is attracted to like, I suppose, _thought John, disregarding laws of magnetism and admiring the noble features of Sherlock's clan.

After he'd been introduced to everyone present (he'd taken a special liking to Aunt Violet, who'd pinched his cheek and called him a "handsome bloke"), Mycroft sauntered up to them.

"Where's your umbrella?" asked John, which earned him a scathing glance from the elder Holmes brother.

"Yes, quite amusing," sneered Mycroft. "Have you become acquainted with the family, then?"

John glanced around. "More or less."

Sherlock said, "I'm going to get some water; Mummy always keeps it too warm." He tossed a look at his brother over his shoulder and said, "Don't bother him too much, Mycroft."

John chuckled and Mycroft stayed quiet, preening himself and removing a loose thread from his suit.

"There is one person I haven't met that I can think of, though," John said after a moment's thought, looking back to Mycroft.

"And who might that be?"

"Your father."

Mycroft smiled. "Ah, yes. David Holmes."

"David?"

"What makes you sound so surprised, John?"

"…With children named 'Mycroft' and 'Sherlock' I assumed at least one parent would have a bizarre name."

Mycroft actually did smile at that and told John, "My brother and I were named after many-times great uncles. Quite old-fashioned names, yes, but not for the nineteenth century."

"I'd never appreciated a boring name like John, but meeting you and Sherlock has made me appreciate it a little more."

Mycroft's eyes were scanning the room over his nose. "Father should be coming in any minute now. He got home a few moments ago; Mummy made her exit so she could go talk to him while he got changed."

John glanced around; sure enough, Anita had disappeared. "Sherlock says your father looks more like you."

Mycroft smirked. "That is true. Sherlock inherited our mother's…beauty. I rather take after our father's looks."

Sherlock returned, sidling up to the two of them through the crowds of talking family members, Marian in tow. "Father's home," he said to Mycroft.

"You're a little late; I already told John about it," said Mycroft smugly.

Sherlock sneered and pulled Marian towards John. "John, Marian wanted to ask you about medical school."

"By all means," said John, brightening up. "Looking to go to Bart's, maybe?"

Marian nodded. "I was hoping to. Uncle David told me I have the mind for it and it seems interesting enough."

"It can't just be 'interesting enough', you've gotta love it," said John with a wink. "What's it like being a cousin to him, Marian?" he asked, jerking his head at Sherlock.

"Call me Mary, everyone but Sherlock does. I got lucky because my father married into the family so my last name's different, so I don't get extra attention at school for being a Holmes."

"Oh, what's your last name?"

"Morstan."

"Ah, there's father. John, come meet my father," said Sherlock. "Marian, talk to him later."

"Nice talking to you, Mary," said John as Sherlock practically dragged him towards his parents.

"Father," said Sherlock as he approached his parents. "I want you to meet my flatmate, assistant, and...best friend, John."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: unplowed. (Javien gave me a HUGE list of prompts- thank you!)<p>

Yeah...that's a twist on Mary I'd never heard before so I figured I'd try it. Kind of want to see what the reaction is cos I really like Mary, actually, even though Sherlock/John is OTP for me.


	111. Patriarch

I had someone say that because Sherlock and Mycroft both have blue eyes, their parents had to both have blue eyes too because of genetics.

I have a brown-eyed parent and a blue-eyed parent and more than half of us kids are blue-eyed...and yes, we're all biologically related.

* * *

><p><strong>Patriarch<strong>

David Holmes had indeed given his looks to Mycroft, but John knew immediately where both the sons had gotten their wise eyes.

Anita was tucked beneath the arm of a very tall man with thick dark hair and a beaked nose, piercing blue eyes and a thin mouth. He had a very stern air about him, but John kept glancing back to the protective, tender hand lightly holding onto his wife's upper arm and knew there was a kind of gentility to him.

"John," said David Holmes, outstretching a hand. "It's good to meet the man who changed my son."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke and it was: wise.<p>

David Holmes isn't actually the patriarch; he's just the man of the house :3


	112. Missing

I'm trying to figure out how I want to pace this...hmm.

* * *

><p><strong>Missing<strong>

John flushed, suddenly nervous. "I didn't do anything, believe me."

"Mycroft tells us you're an excellent influence on Sherlock," Anita piped up. She looked at Sherlock and grinned. "Shoo now, we're talking about you."

"I'm an adult," replied Sherlock, suddenly petulant. "I can stay if I want to."

"Already beginning to act like a child again, I see," snubbed Mycroft, murmuring to John, "They have this effect on him…he'll _always _be their little boy."

"So I've noticed," John replied as he watched Sherlock and Anita bicker as David looked on fondly but quietly. "He missed them, I can tell."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from MrsCumberbatch and it was: nervous<p> 


	113. Lonely

What do you think the Holmes mansion looks like on the outside?

* * *

><p><strong>Lonely<strong>

The family began to either return to their rooms if they were staying or leaving if they were going to their own. John, panicked, almost forgot where his room was, but remembered it was connected to Sherlock's and followed his flatmate when he was getting ready to turn in.

"I was surprised you agreed to come," Sherlock said as they were in their joint bathroom and John was brushing his teeth.

"Why's that?"

"I thought perhaps you'd spend Christmas with your family."

John stared in the mirror as he scrubbed his teeth, then spat and said, "Christmas with them would've been lonely anyway."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: lonely<p> 


	114. What Christmas Used to Be

I think I mentioned some stuff about John's family in earlier chapters; does anyone remember?

* * *

><p><strong>What Christmas Used to Be<strong>

John's frustrations with his family had never beleaguered him so much as they did now with Sherlock's curious gaze on him.

However, he was beginning to find that there was no one he trusted quite like Sherlock, so he wiped his mouth with a towel and said in a rush, "My mother's a drunkard who forgets me, my sister's depressed over failing relationships, and my father walked out on us when I was ten. We don't really have extended family, so Christmas was my weeping sister and my piss-drunk mother. Of course I said yes to coming with you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: beleaguer (I used one of the words from the Challenge List!)<p> 


	115. Always Welcome

Where do you see their relationship right now? I'm curious as to what the readers see, as I can't really tell with my writer's eye. Are they in love and denying it? Not realizing it? Are they just friends, on the verge of love? I want to hear your interpretation.

* * *

><p><strong>Always Welcome<strong>

"I guess that means you'll have to come to every Christmas with us, then."

John had just been leaving the bathroom when Sherlock spoke up. Surprised, he turned to his flatmate.

Sherlock had a hazy look of embarrassment on his face, enough to make John inwardly chuckle. _That's so him, isn't it?_

"Perhaps so," John allowed with a smile. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be," Sherlock told him quickly. "This is the first time I've brought someone and introduced them as my friend. My…best friend." He smiled slightly. "You will always be welcomed here, John."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: hazy<p> 


	116. Breakfast with the Holmses

I'm not a breakfast person early in the morning. I'm more a breakfast person around 10...which makes life difficult during the week, when I'm usually waking up at 6.

* * *

><p><strong>Breakfast with the Holmses<strong>

John had hardly eaten breakfast with his family; his parents had rarely been around in the mornings and Harry had left for school early, so he'd always made breakfast for himself. Morning with the Holmes family was starkly different than anything he remembered- cozy, with plenty of food and playful bickering.

"You could always _ask_ Mycroft to pass you the salt," remarked Anita as Sherlock's bony hand shot across the table to grab the saltshaker.

"I don't like asking for favors from Mycroft, even for something like salt."

"Common courtesy," tutted Mycroft from behind his newspaper. "You lack it, dear brother."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke and it was: bony<p> 


	117. Marview

Haha, it feels weird to be writing a Christmas arc when it's March...I'm so behind...

* * *

><p><strong>Marview<strong>

Despite it being chilly out, the day was clear and crisp- perfect, Mycroft decided, to show John around Marview.

"You're not taking John out for a date," snapped Sherlock when his brother suggested it.

"Quite right," agreed Mycroft, snapping his newspaper in Sherlock's direction. "I'm taking him on a tour. John, will you pass the strawberry jam, please?"

John obliged. "I'd like to see your village."

"There are plenty of good shops around for Christmas presents, as well," Mycroft informed him.

John immediately thought of Mike Stamford and his very own clever flatmate; both were on his holiday list. "Sounds fantastic."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke (who, you may have noticed, has supplied me with a boatload of wonderful prompts), and it was: clever<p> 


	118. Timing

I hate writing "shopping sequences"...I always feel my descriptions get boring, hahaha.

* * *

><p><strong>Timing<strong>

Mycroft decided to let him loose after showing him around the small village; John went inside the glassblower's to look at some vases that he found to be quite beautiful. As he admired one, he accidentally bumped a table, causing one to fall- only to be caught by a quick hand.

John breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock carefully replaced the vase on the table. "Impeccable timing, Sherlock," he said. "I thought you didn't want to come?"

"Couldn't trust you alone with Mycroft." Sherlock gazed around the shop. "D'you think Mycroft would like one of these?"

* * *

><p>Prompt was from MrsCumberbatch, and it was: timing<p> 


	119. Present

Of course Sherlock has ulterior motives.

* * *

><p><strong>Present<strong>

"You're kidding," John murmured, picking up a vase. "I think this runs a little more in the vein of something your mother would enjoy."

"She has plenty of useless gifts from me. The last time I gave Mycroft a gift, I was about five and scribbled pictures on colored paper definitely won't have much value now."

"Why get him a gift now?"

Sherlock looked a bit abashed while maintaining his haughty air. "Perhaps I just want to give Mycroft a gift for the holidays."

John peered at a security camera. "He's laughing at you right now, I promise you that."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: murmur<p> 


	120. Sherlock's Warmth

Everyone's got their song for their OTPs and such...for me, Sherlock and John's, at least in Tea Leaves, is Ingrid Michaelson's version of "Can't Help Falling in Love"...give it a listen if you haven't heard it. I don't know why, but when I listened to it, it kind of became my staple song to write Tea Leaves to.

I titled this chapter "Sherlock's Warmth" because of the ending. Sherlock himself doesn't seem all that warm, but he certainly makes John warm.

* * *

><p><strong>Sherlock's Warmth<strong>

"I wish you'd tell me what you and Mycroft were like as kids," John remarked as they left the glassblower's and headed further into the village square and down the main street.

Sherlock shrugged, never losing time in his brisk strides. "I grew up in the shade of Mycroft's branches. We doted on each other…until we started competing. He could often best me in intellect because he was seven years older and had had more schooling. Once I got older, though, our competition became a little more…evenly matched. But by that time he was moving on to greater things than fussing around with his little brother, a mop-haired brat who played with his chemistry set and was intensely awkward in his bumbling teenage body."

They turned into a cafe. John ordered a coffee and Sherlock, his customary Earl Gray. "I have to say I can't imagine you as…awkward or bumbling," said John as they paid and left to search around some more. A few clouds rolling in forecasted snow, and John wanted to get his Christmas shopping done before they got caught in it. Belatedly he realized he couldn't get Sherlock a gift unless he was alone. _Bother, _he grumbled. _He'll just induce what it is before he even opens it anyway, so I guess it shouldn't matter…_

"Well," said Sherlock after a sip of his tea, "of course you can't imagine it. _Now_ I am the epitome of grace."

"Modesty too, I see."

Sherlock smiled into his styrofoam cup. "Where to, Captain?"

"Depends. Do you want to look for something for Mycroft?"

A slow flush crept up Sherlock's neck even though his face stayed impassive. "I _knew _it!" hissed John triumphantly. "You're trying to be sneaky. You'll have to work on that a little more, Sherlock; you haven't learned subtlety yet."

Sherlock grimaced and didn't answer, steering John into a jewelry and dress shop. "Mummy first," he muttered.

"All right, what are you up to?"

"I'm…kowtowing." Sherlock spat the word off his lips. "A reconciliation of sorts. I just need a favor, really, but it's a small step in a larger plan."

"Mycroft will see right through it."

"He'll appreciate the effort."

"What do you get a man that has anything he wants- power, money, material goods, influence- at his fingertips?"

"I was hoping you could help me with that."

"A new umbrella?"

Sherlock gave John a disdainful look as he browsed through shawls and necklaces and scarves, all feminine but sturdy. He finally pulled two dresses from a rack and held them up. "Which?"

"For you or your mum?"

"Shut up."

John examined each, running the fabric between his fingers. One was burgundy, made of a very soft cotton. It was rather simple, and John wasn't sure if it suited Anita. He found the other one- a white satin cocktail dress that wrapped around itself- to be closer to something she'd wear.

"The white one," he said.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Sherlock murmured, looking at the tag.

John glanced around the store. "I suppose I should get your parents something for letting me stay with you."

"Only if you wish. They certainly don't expect anything from you. They'd be thrilled you got them something at all, even if it was a deck of playing cards."

John strolled over to the jewelry near the register and felt a little dizzy when he saw some of the prices. Stunned, he looked over at Sherlock casually purchasing the dress. The prince was rung up, and John's jaw dropped.

_He comes from money. He doesn't exactly act like it, but he does. …Why the hell am I the one always paying for the groceries?_

Catching John's stare out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock paid for the dress and, as if reading his thoughts, spoke three words that made a tingle run up John's spine.

"Your pride, John."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

Sherlock was the only one left on his list.

He'd gotten Mike a new green jumper, an umbrella-spoke fixer (a nifty little thing he found in a hardware store) for Mycroft, a biography of JRR Tolkien that he planned to ship his sister's way, a Moody Blues record of their 1967 single "Nights in White Satin" for his mother, and a set of salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls in scarves for the Holmses. He thought his gift to them was a bit silly and out of place in their grand home, but Sherlock looked at them and smiled slightly, assuring John that his parents would love them.

John was a few steps behind Sherlock, glancing in shop windows and wondering what he could surreptitiously purchase for his flatmate without the man guessing what it was or noticing it.

His brow furrowed and his expression grew dry as his options began to dwindle. _What does one get Sherlock Holmes for a Christmas gift?_

Sherlock hadn't found his gift for Mycroft either.

Snow began to flurry down softly and John stuck his hands in his pocket, having long disposed of his warm coffee. "Sherlock," he called. His flatmate turned around. "We should call Mycroft soon so we can head back. It's starting to snow and we have tomorrow to get our errands done."

"I'm not giving up," said Sherlock staunchly.

"Sherlock, it's coooold," complained John to the younger man. "Let's go home, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced down in surprise, as if he hadn't expected John to call his house "home," but took it as a slip of the tongue, John forgetting where they were. "Of course. Let's go home and warm up."

They didn't even need to call Mycroft; a cab appeared nearby and Mycroft stuck his head out the passenger side. "Come on now, you two. Nearly dinner time."

Sherlock looked back at John with a smile, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold. "He's going to love that umbrella-spoke fixer, by the way."

John smiled back at him, his chest suddenly warm in spite of the season.

* * *

><p>I used TWO readers' prompts today!<p>

Prompts were from DarkForbidden-Love and Thelexpiea, and they were: shade and awkward/bumbling


	121. Shy

Now, there was something really weird going on with chapter 120. I tried publishing it three times over the course of two days, and the notifications of it getting published came on the third day, and all at once for that matter. FFnet can be so obnoxious like that sometimes...

This was originally published here on March 25th; let's see if it takes a while for it to update and let people know that the new chapter is out.

* * *

><p><strong>Shy<strong>

John danced around the idea of flat-out asking Sherlock what he wanted for Christmas, if he wanted anything at all, because he was unable to think of anything.

Arriving back at the house, Sherlock and John changed for dinner and sat in the living room with Anita for a cup of tea to warm up. She was knitting a beautiful blue afghan, her needles moving dexterously.

"That's a gorgeous blanket," John said, before realizing it was the color of the Holmes family's blue eyes (save Anita's).

Anita smiled. "It makes an easy gift for a girl who doesn't like getting out."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: dance<p>

I like the idea of Anita being a fun lady, but also one that's a bit introverted and not always comfortable in social situations despite her warm and welcoming demeanor.


	122. Talk

I received negative feedback from some on Mary, and mixed on the rest. There's a reason this is a Sherlock/John fic, dear ones :)

* * *

><p><strong>Talk<strong>

John was ambushed after dinner.

"I was rather disappointed that you were stolen before we got the chance to talk," said a voice as John passed by the library on the way back to his room.

John paused and noticed Marian- _Mary, _he reminded himself- Morstan leaning against the doorframe of the library, strawberry blond hair tied back from her face. She had the same graceful, swooping features and pale blue eyes as Sherlock. John found himself unable to keep his eyes from leaving hers.

"I'm always available to talk," he said after a pause.

She smiled. "Meet me back here."

"…Sure."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: stolen<p> 


	123. Interest

I need to find some good Hunger Games fanfiction! I saw the movie opening night and the night after and now I've gotten all hung up on it again and devoured the books. How about some good Peeta/Katniss stuff. Any recommendations? Doesn't have to be from FFnet, either.

* * *

><p><strong>Interest<strong>

Sherlock prowled past the library's closed doors, feeling peeved and anxious. Where was John? He'd disappeared an hour ago and Sherlock didn't like being parted for too long.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard laughter in the library. Sherlock backtracked and cracked the door slightly.

_There he is! _he thought with relief upon spotting John…with Marian, who, he noticed, was coyly tucking her hair behind her ear.

…_She's interested,_ he realized with little surprise and more discontent than was reasonable.

"Hey, you."

Sherlock turned his head. His mother stood there.

"Yes, you," she said. "Let me ask you something."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: yes, you<p> 


	124. Fair

It's 4:12 a.m...I really want to sleep but don't even feel the least bit tired.

* * *

><p><strong>Fair<strong>

Beside the walrus-mustached face of his grandfather's portrait, Sherlock received his first lecture from Anita in several months.

"It is not fair of you to spy on your friend or your cousin," she remarked with a pointed look at her taller son. "Don't think I haven't noticed those looks Mary'd sent his way last night. Who can blame her? He's a sweetheart."

Sherlock gave her a dirty look. "Mummy…I wasn't _spying_, I was looking for him."

"Does he want to be found? Does she want him to be found?"

Sherlock felt a twinge in his gut. "...Perhaps not."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Amy the Balrog and it was: walrus<p> 


	125. Advice

Words of wisdom from the vixen in sheep's clothing...Mycroft gets _that _part of his personality from his mum.

* * *

><p><strong>Advice<strong>

Anita smiled slightly. "Sherlock," she murmured, brushing a curl from his temple, "I know what your cousin wants, and I know what you want, even if you yourself don't yet. I'm also aware that John would be more comfortable here if he had another friend besides you. Let him make his friend, sweetheart."

Sherlock nodded as she gave his cheek a final pat and began to walk away.

"However, Sherlock," Anita said suddenly, with a demure but foxy glance over her shoulder, "I'll remind you of this: I never would have married your father if I'd just stood on the sidelines."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke and it was: demure<p> 


	126. Intercepted

Sherlock, as evidenced in The Blind Banker, is an expert cockblocker.

* * *

><p><strong>Intercepted<strong>

"So, we couldn't actually treat him because of the language barrier. You think we'd have one student in our class that spoke at least a little French, but luck was not on our side that day," said John, chuckling as he recounted another story to Mary.

She grinned and said, "Tell me another! I'm liking Bart's already." She subtly reached out a hand to his wrist suddenly the doors to the library swung open and Sherlock strutted in.

"Come, John, I've got something to show you. Oh, hello, Marian. Hope I didn't interrupt anything," said Sherlock, smiling.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from The90'sKid and it was: language barrier<p> 


	127. I Have You

It's never what you think it means, but it's okay to pretend! :D

* * *

><p><strong>I Have You<strong>

"Hey, nosy!" snapped John as Sherlock led him down the hall and to his room, much to the chagrin of a startled Mary. "The hell, Sherlock? You just…barged in and interrupted. You can't do that."

"I can try to stop you from becoming infatuated with her."

John stilled. "You're joking. Tell me you're kidding."

"Do you find it amusing?"

"I find it obnoxious, actually. I'm not _infatuated._ And it would be nice if you didn't hinder my friend-making."

"Don't fall for my cousin," said Sherlock, unsure as to why he dreaded that thought.

"Why would I, Sherlock? I have you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Paralelsky and it was: infatuated<p> 


	128. Hands Full

I've been getting lots of prompts :) THANK YOU ALL!

* * *

><p><strong>Hands Full<strong>

Sherlock froze in place, his bedroom door halfway opened. He turned, looking into John's vibrant, trustworthy blue eyes, which were fixed right on him.

And then, he realized why he dreaded the idea of John falling for Marian. _I want him to myself, _he realized, partly amused, partly surprised with himself for not realizing sooner.

"John," he said with a swallow, "I-"

"I mean, one Holmes is enough."

Sherlock fumbled, taken aback. "…Ah…?"

"I don't need another Holmes in my life!" chuckled John. "A friend is nice, but I don't want to get involved when I have my hands full with you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: vibrant<p> 


	129. Heartbreaker

Sherlock isn't aware his unusual looks are considered "handsome"- that's not something he thinks about anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Heartbreaker<strong>

Sherlock floundered for only a split second. "Naturally," he replied, trying to insert his usual ease and arrogance into his voice. "And Mycroft is quite protective of his younger cousin, as am I. Best not to get yourself entangled in that."

"Ah, yeah," said John, blanching a bit. "I hate to see what protective Mycroft is like."

"And," added Sherlock, mentally apologizing to Marian for his words against her, "she'd break your heart. Guaranteed."

"Well, she's related to you…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

John smirked. "You break the heart of every girl who comes into Bean There, Casanova."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Paralelsky, and it was: heart<p> 


	130. Stories

Sherlock is broached with an uncomfortable idea.

So I've had a couple of readers approach me with a correction- I am Americana, and my British terminology knowledge is all of zilch, hahaha XD Thank you, guys...

* * *

><p><strong>Stories<strong>

"You never told me what it was you wanted-" began John, only to be cut off by a mildly stunned Sherlock.

"Casanova?" he said, his sangfroid temporarily vanished. "Me?"

John looked at him with a slightly teasing smile on his face. "Naturally, Sherlock. Good looking guy like you, swooping into the cafe and stalking up to the counter to order tea like some kind of Byronic hero. Well, not quite like that, but close enough, and quite enough to get all the young women's hearts aflutter. Only to break them when you open your mouth and start snarking off, not even paying them the slightest attention."

"I'm…good-looking?"

"You're kidding me."

Sherlock was silent, processing this.

"Sherlock, you're beautiful." John could have smacked his forehead. "It feels a bit funny for me to tell you so, but I consider you my best friend and I know you know me well enough that I'm saying this quite plainly."

Sherlock pushed down the overwhelming urge to flush and controlled himself. To his embarrassment, he was not immune to flattery, especially flattery from John- he nearly burst with pride every time John exclaimed "Brilliant!" in admiration of his work.

John shifted. "You wanted to show me something," he prompted.

"Right," said Sherlock, snapping himself from his haze. He gestured to his open door and usher John inside his bedroom. "I'm a bit greedy, John. I request the best view in the house whenever I come home, which is why I've made this room permanently mine."

John followed Sherlock through the bedroom and waited as Sherlock opened the door to the balcony. A rush of cold air swept in, briefly chilling John, causing him to shiver and making him grateful that he had a jumper on.

"John, look at this."

John stepped outside, face immediately turning up when he felt snowflakes on his face. "Smells like snow," he commented, breathing deeply. Finally, he turned in the direction Sherlock was pointing.

The Holmes mansion stood on a hill overlooking Marview, and John could immediately see why Sherlock wanted the coveted view. The little village was lit up like a Christmas scene from a movie, snow drifting down onto roofs. The church in the town square had a beautiful rose window and a light shone through the stained glass.

"Wow," John breathed. "Sherlock, it's beautiful." He went forward and leaned on the balcony rail, inhaling as he took in the sight of the village lit up.

He felt a nudge and turned; Sherlock was offering him a quilt. "Thanks," John said, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling it snug over his torso.

Sherlock got his own quilt and they stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the sight of the village below them shining like a Christmas tree. When the snow had lightly dusted Sherlock's chestnut curls, John reached up to brush them off and Sherlock obligingly leaned forward to allow him.

"Did you grow up here?"

Sherlock nodded. "The village has always been my home, even though we inherited the estate when I was four. I went to school there-" he pointed at a schoolhouse, "-up until I was ten. Then I went to boarding school."

"Entitled brat," John chuckled. "I went to state school all my life."

"I would've traded you anything for that experience," Sherlock said honestly. "I would have much preferred it."

"Bet you wouldn't've. It was awful. People were mean."

"To you?"

"In general."

"Sounds like boarding school."

"I bet they had better manners."

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock smiled faintly. "I wasn't one of the mannerly bunch, either."

"_No._"

"What?"

"You?"

"Shut up."

John laughed and shoved Sherlock's shoulder lightly. "I figured Mycroft would've put you in your place for that."

"Oh, he did. Or, at least, he tried to."

"You should've grown up with Harriet. She didn't hesitate to beat the ever-loving crap outta you if you misbehaved, and it didn't matter whose brother you were, be it hers or her girlfriend's." John went quiet. "After my dad left, she had to deliver one of those beatings to me. Had to get me to snap out of it. Help take care of my mum, cos she could barely do it herself."

Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye, shifting uncomfortably. He'd never had to deal with something like this- a parent abandoning their family. "Were you able to help her?"

"Enough that she started singing again. Several months later, but still- it was a sign that she was returning to normal." John's face darkened. "Only difference is that she drank all the time. Constantly. I hated it more than anything- swore to myself that I would never drink myself into a stupor like she did every other night. I could never do that to my children."

_He wants children? _Sherlock's mind suddenly caught on this detail. His imagination shifted to John married to a faceless woman, surrounded by small blond children with honest blue gazes. The thought made him sad as it made him happy- a confusing emotion, but one he found he could interpret, whether he liked it or not. He found that he was slightly more relieved when he imagined himself in that picture- John passing off a small child into his arms and saying, _"Hold her for a second, hmm?"_

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's attention snapped back to the young man in front of him. "You will make an excellent father, John."

John raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Thanks?"

"Of course."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

_I still need to get Sherlock a Christmas present,_ John thought a little glumly as he prepared for bed. _But I have no clue what to get him. Christmas is in two days._

He climbed under the covers and curled up, trying to preserve his warmth, and slept.

In the room next door, someone else was having a sleepless night, haunted by visions of a nameless child with an unwavering gaze too similar to John's.

* * *

><p>Prompts were from Feeling Rather Marxist, Doodled93, and Javien Deluke, and they were: sangfroid, smells like snow, and shiver (respectively)<p> 


	131. The Best Gift

I don't know what John should get Sherlock either. PM or comment your ideas, dear readers...? :) I'd be quite appreciative, and the one who suggests the my favorite idea of course will receive credit.

* * *

><p><strong>The Best Gift<strong>

"It's Christmas Eve and I have nothing for Sherlock," murmured John glumly, slumping and looking up at Anita from his seat in the kitchen.

Anita looked up and pushed a strand of hair away from her face, getting flour on her forehead. John tucked his jumper sleeve around his thumb and brushed it off. "Will you help me make the pudding?"

John nodded and washed his hands as she continued talking. "You don't need to get him anything. You already gave him the best Christmas gift."

"But I haven't given him-"

"John." Anita smiled gently. "You're _here_, aren't you?"

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: murmur<p> 


	132. Rivals

I've made Mary a different Mary than the Mary I like. And I do like Mary, really. I imagine her to be a good friend to John, the one who listens to all his stories about Sherlock and understands that she has to share her husband's heart with another. But this is a Sherlock/John fic...so those who seemed to be worried about John and Mary coming to fruition, you don't really have anything to worry about, hahaha.

* * *

><p><strong>Rivals<strong>

Mary peeked in the library, her sharp blue eyes falling on Sherlock's curly head just above an armchair.

"Come in or stay out, Marian," he said with a wave of his hand. She stepped inside lithely, cautiously.

"You've been angry with me." It wasn't a question.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, turning his head slightly.

"'Cos you've always gotten mad when I tried to take things that you didn't want to share."

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, but when he turned around, his face was melancholy. "Are you truly attracted to him?"

"And if I am?"

"…I won't fight you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from The Papercut Doctor, and it was: lithe<p> 


	133. Panic

Thanks for all the gift suggestions, guys!

* * *

><p><strong>Panic<strong>

Panic was setting in, but now John had an ally.

Anita laughed as he held up a pair of mittens that resembled otters. "I don't think that's his style."

"What _is _his style? You're his mother. I brought you to help me, not to laugh at my attempts!"

"If it's from you, Sherlock wants something from the heart. It doesn't have to be a material gift."

John examined a purple shirt that he thought Sherlock would wear quite well. "I'm rubbish at this."

"No one's rubbish with gifts so long as they're given with love," Anita quipped. "Let's go to the antiques store."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Magna Parva, and it was: panic<p> 


	134. Not Perfect

I hope you don't mind if I write a small arc about the relationship between Sherlock's folks.

* * *

><p><strong>Not Perfect<strong>

Anita sipped thoughtfully at the hot chocolate she'd bought and examined the watch John held up. Finally, she gave her head a slow shake. "Mm, no. Not personal enough, and Sherlock already has a watch. A rather nice one; I got it for him myself."

John sighed, glancing at the watch he held. "…And it's already five."

"You'll find something," Anita said reassuringly. "If it's any comfort, David always loves the gifts I give him, even if they're not perfect."

There was something John was curious about. "May I ask how the two of you fell in love?"

"It was trial-filled."

"Really."

"Yes. He'd been engaged."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: trial<p> 


	135. The Beekeeper's Wife

Oh, a certain "czanghi" asked me a question I forgot to answer.

Yes to Maureen Johnson, yes to Nerdfighter.

* * *

><p><strong>The Beekeeper's Wife<strong>

"David works in international business, as many in the Holmes family do. David, being part of the direct line, manages the bees," Anita said. "Only the direct line works with the bees; they're a precious family asset."

"The bees?"

"One of our businesses is beekeeping. Have you ever heard of the brand Last Bow Honey?"

"I use it on my toast sometimes, yes."

"That's ours."

John grinned. "You don't say. Sherlock's a sneak; he never tells me _anything _about himself!"

"He's quite private, isn't he?" Anita giggled. "You're a good influence on him, though."

John said quietly, "I rather think _he's_ the good influence on _me_."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: bees<p> 


	136. Friends First

Two meanings of the name Belinda are beautiful and soft, or beautiful serpent. You choose which you prefer.

* * *

><p><strong>Friends First<strong>

Anita continued. "When I met David, he was engaged to a woman named Belinda. She was gorgeous, rich, and the perfect socialite. The epitome of a high society woman. They made a good match together in that way; he grew up needing connections and skills, and she had those."

"And you didn't?" John asked, confused.

Anita smiled. "I," she said, "was a working class business assistant with little interest in my employer. I became an advisor and secretary after a few years, and it was then- when I spent my days working alongside him- that I grew to be his friend."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: they (didn't have to put a lot of thought into that one; thank you!)<p> 


	137. Stockholm Syndrome

I still haven't decided what John's getting Sherlock, hahaha...I'm a bit focused on Anita and David. (In my opinion, I'm terrible at writing original characters and I don't exactly enjoy doing it, but I've had a few people say I do a decent enough job. Am I doing all right?)

* * *

><p><strong>Stockholm Syndrome<strong>

"I only fell in love with David after I'd spent a few years by his side, almost every day. My off days started to pain me, I wanted to see him so much. That's when I realized it, that I was in love with him. His engagement to Belinda had gone on for a few years and I was highly aware of it. I was also aware that David was not in love with his fiancee."

John's eyebrows raised.

"She'd kept him near for so long that she was a comfort zone. Call it Stockholm Syndrome," Sherlock's mother said with a wink.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: Stockholm Syndrome<p> 


	138. Fighting Spirit

I used to be so good at responding to reviews and PMs... *weeps* I'm sorry!

* * *

><p><strong>Fighting Spirit<strong>

"What did you do?" asked John, more interested than he thought he'd be. He'd never had much interest in other people's tales of romance, but having spent time with them, he'd come to care about Sherlock's quiet, confident parents.

"Well, first I tried to show him that his ideas of love and security had been conflated. Having been engaged to Belinda since he was eighteen, she'd become a constant in his life, which both intimidated and comforted him. He didn't want to leave her."

"How did you win?" questioned John.

Anita's smirk was vulpine. "I wasn't afraid to fight for David."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my mother, and it was: vulpine ("My favorite word!" she says. "I'm not surprised," I say.)<p> 


	139. What He's Done

Speaking of fighting...

* * *

><p><strong>What He's Done<strong>

"'I won't fight you'?" Mary walked over to the armchair Sherlock sat in and stared at him in shock. "Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?"

Sherlock gave her a quizzical look, keeping his distance.

"Hiding the real Sherlock in the cellar, are you?"

"What are you talking about, Marian?"

Mary laughed, still staring at him incredulously. "The Sherlock I knew five months ago would never have said anything like that, would never have acquiesced to someone's desires if he thought it would make someone besides him happy." She shook her head. "I like what he's done to you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: cellar<p>

Hey guys, I've started posting Tea Leaves on another fanfiction site to get a wider scope of readers. I'll still publish here first, don't worry. :) If you're interested, I've started posting on Archive of Our Own. It's still in beta, and there are comments but also something called "Kudos" in which you give a thumbs up to a story. My story can be found here: http :/ /archiveofourown . org/works /385766 /chapters/ 631892. (Just remove the spaces, obviously.) If you guys are interested in giving me a boost there, feel free to swing by and give your Kudos or feedback!


	140. Tea Leaves

I think one of my favorite parts of a story is the moment when the meaning of the title is explained. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Tea Leaves<strong>

"You weren't afraid to fight for him?" asked John, a look of new respect passing into his eyes.

"A man like David _needs _to be fought for, and I was the woman to do it," Anita said. "The difference between me and Belinda was that I wasn't afraid to get down in the mud to scrap for what I wanted, and what she cared far more about was her social standing, or more, not getting dirty. When it came down to it, though, she just couldn't prove her love like I could. She did fight, though, in her own way, but not for long. She pulled out every stop to deter and sabotage me- she nearly got me fired at one point, but by then David was becoming protective, even if he didn't realize that he had feelings for me, so I kept my job with him. Our boys take after him with personality; they're very analytical and intelligent, but when it comes to matters of the heart they're more than a bit dense. That's where people like you and I come in."

"Me?" John raised his eyebrows.

Anita smiled at him. "Yes, you. You don't think I've noticed the effect you've had on my son? I can't _believe _how much he's changed since I saw him last. He's more open and receptive to others and he actually pays attention to things other than his work or his personal feelings. John, he's never had a best friend, and he's clearly proud to introduce you as the man who fills that role."

A warm flush crept up John's neck. "I haven't done anything much."

"You've done plenty, but the difference is subtle. It's rather like tea leaves in water. You have water- versatile, universal, unique in its own way- but when you add tea leaves, what once was just water suddenly becomes tea. It's completely saturated with the flavor and it changes, often for the better."

John sat back, thinking about this analogy. "Which of us is water and which is tea leaves?"

Anita's smile was warm. "I think you two have a little bit of both. But I rather think that Sherlock's life has been saturated with the flavor of John Watson, and- like tea- once it's that way, it's not going back to being just water."

John rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed, uncertain as to why his chest felt tight and his stomach felt fluttery. "You, ah. What were you saying about you and David?"

He ignored her knowing smile as she continued. "I proved to David, eventually, that I was the one who was willing to fight for him, that Belinda wanted him solely for the power he gave her and that while he felt secure with her, it was I that he wanted to be with. And that was the case, you know- there was no need to manipulate on my part. He only needed to discover the truth."

"And when he realized?"

"He broke off his engagement with Belinda. David loved me, and he knew that. He felt secure at the side of his beautiful companion, but with me he felt love."

"You're so lucky," John told her, feeling a bit envious. "And he's fortunate to have such a woman by his side."

"I try to stay worth his while," Sherlock's mother said with a wink.

Remembering his mission, John said after a short pause, "I still need to find a gift for Sherlock." Distraught as he was brought back to reality, he asked anxiously, "What do I do?"

"You're the one who sees Sherlock every day," said Anita pointedly. "What do you think would be a good gift for him?"

John shut his eyes and thought, picturing his flatmate in his mind. The inspiration hit him so suddenly that his eyes flew open and he snatched at Anita's sleeve. "I think I've got it," he said determinedly. "We need to go back."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

John wrapped the presents he had for everyone, putting on makeshift labels he'd made with store-bought stickers. He'd written up the addresses of his sister and mother on their gifts and had successfully wrapped Mike's jumper despite its pliability. Sherlock's present was last.

John stared at it a bit apprehensively. He'd never been very good at giving gifts, and he'd discovered that Sherlock was ridiculously hard to shop for. _Maybe I should have just gotten him a book…_

He remembered his own book, sitting forlornly on his desk back at their flat. He hadn't written in it for quite some time- Sherlock had a funny way of diverting all his attention.

John remembered the notebook his therapist had given him, telling him to use his creativity to tell a story. He'd always thought it had been a bit of a pathetic attempt to make him feel better, and he didn't think he was much of a writer in the first place, but nonetheless he'd begun writing a story. It had been a somewhat half-baked mystery crime story, but as he'd never had much experience with that kind of thing before Sherlock, it had been pretty weak and he hadn't had much passion for it.

_That first night he met me, _John recalled suddenly, remembering Sherlock in his midnight blue suit, his dark curls falling into his eyes, sauntering up to the counter at Bean There like he owned it and telling John he hand wrote all his essays. _It was the only thing he'd ever really gotten wrong when he was making all those observations about me. He knew I didn't have a computer and that I hand wrote my essays, but he didn't know I'd been up late writing a story, not an essay._

An idea took seed in his mind, creeping tendrils of inspiration throughout his head.

_I'll just write about the subject I know best, then._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: sudden<p> 


	141. Lost the Battle

I want to develop this character more! I wonder if I can find good space to do it.

* * *

><p><strong>Lost the Battle<strong>

_"Well, if you're not going to fight me, I'll just take what I want," Mary said when Sherlock stayed silent. She stood to leave, but a hand shot out and gripped her wrist. She turned._

_Sherlock's scowl was deep, his eyes bright. "If that's your choice, I _will _fight you, and there will be no armistice day for us."_

Mary rolled over in her bed and stared at the room she always claimed for her own when staying at Anita and David's house. Though she'd lost the battle and ceded to Sherlock, she felt satisfied.

"Good show, Sherlock," she murmured.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: armistice<p> 


	142. Universe

Good morning! I wanted to upload a few of these before I shimmied on off to take my SATs...

* * *

><p><strong>Universe<strong>

Sherlock smacked his forehead against his headboard.

_I can't believe I told her that. What got into me?_

He couldn't seem to help the protective feelings he had towards John, and for some reason Marian posed a threat to him that he disliked. She was an unbelievably beautiful woman; just the kind of woman John would probably want. He didn't like the idea of Marian suddenly intruding on the atmosphere they had. It was a world in which she did not belong, and he would protect their little corner of the universe, belonging to only him and John.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: unbelievable<p> 


	143. Midnight Visit

This chapter was hard. I had more I wanted to say, but I had to keep shaving it down to 100 words...

* * *

><p><strong>Midnight Visit<strong>

John's attention was diverted when the clock in his room struck midnight. Mere seconds later, he heard the clock in Sherlock's room next door chiming as well. Pausing in his writing (he'd found some paper and a pen in the desk in the corner of his room), he stood and went over to the door that connected his and Sherlock's room via the bathroom. He listened, but there was only silence.

He subdued his hesitation and peeked in Sherlock's room. Sherlock was sitting on his bed, reading by the light of a bedside lamp.

"Merry Christmas," said John.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: silence<p> 


	144. Only to Use Him

These past few chapters I've gotten a lot of love. Thank you all so much! :D

* * *

><p><strong>Only to Use Him<strong>

Sherlock looked up from his book in surprise, but it quickly fell away into a smile. "John."

"I heard it ring midnight," said John, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas."

"Likewise," Sherlock said, marking his place in his book.

"Did you find your gift for Mycroft?"

Sherlock's expression darkened. "I was trying to get a tank full of camel spiders, but they couldn't deliver on such short notice."

"I thought you were trying to make things better with him?"

"Only to use him."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Doodled93, and it was: camel spider<p> 


	145. No Less Than Her

I just needed to put something here for my own OCD-ness about how the chapter looks...I don't have much to say XD

* * *

><p><strong>No Less<strong>

Sherlock saw the exasperated look in John's eyes and wondered if John knew he was teasing. Probably not, but that made it all the funnier.

"Get some sleep, John," he said, putting his book on his nightstand. "I'm going to try to, for once. Get some tomorrow night as well; my mother will doubtlessly be dragging you along on Boxing Day to all the shops."

"I like your mum," said John quietly, smiling. "You're not much like her, though."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Not that I like you any less than her," amended John hastily.

Sherlock smirked and nodded. "Good."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Jenn, and it was: Boxing Day<p> 


	146. Familiar

A few people commented on some similarities between some of the characters and their relationships...Sherlock and John ought to take a leaf out of Anita and David's book, hmm?

* * *

><p><strong>Familiar<strong>

"Sherlock, why are you and Mycroft the way that you are?"

"How do you mean, John? Personality?"

"Yes. And dynamics." John slipped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. "If you don't mind me asking."

"You know you can ask me anything, John." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Mycroft and I take after our father in personality, being somewhat sharp, arrogant, and calculating except when around those we love. We're quite different from Mummy, who's very warm, gentle, and open-hearted."

Something about what Sherlock was saying struck John as familiar, but he couldn't figure out what.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: sharp<p> 


	147. Reconnect

Poor Mycroft. :( I got a sense that Sherlock's annoyance with him was possibly rooted in something that happened in childhood.

* * *

><p><strong>Reconnect<strong>

"It's partially for this reason that Mycroft and I don't get on very well," continued Sherlock. "We're too similar to each other, even though I'm smarter and less of a…diva."

John snorted. "You have your moments."

Sherlock ignored him. "He never kept his promises, and I stopped trusting him and respecting him as my older brother and confidant. I remember when I was twelve and he didn't come through for me on a matter of great importance. I haven't gotten along with him since."

"He wants to get along with you," John said quietly.

"I know, John," murmured Sherlock.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: confidant<p> 


	148. He Doesn't Realize

WHOOOOO.

School's been out for two weeks, I'm a senior in high school, and living the summer high life. It's time to get back in the swing of writing :)

Sorry for my absence, lovelies. I'll be updating more, I promise!

* * *

><p><strong>He Doesn't Realize<strong>

John looked at his watch. "I should go to bed. I'll be in a state of disrepair tomorrow morning if I deprive my body of good sleep."

Sherlock nodded. "Of course. Good night, John."

John stood, causing Sherlock's bed to creak, and stretched, smiling slightly. "Good night to you too, Sherlock." A sudden flush crept up his neck. "I hope you like your gift."

Sherlock looked at his flatmate with mild curiosity, but John was already heading out towards his room.

Sherlock leaned back and smiled. _He doesn't realize he's already given me the best gift._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: disrepair<p> 


	149. Homesickness

It feels really weird to be writing about Christmas in...well, nearly July. Still June here in the States.

* * *

><p><strong>Homesickness<strong>

It had snowed the day before, and when John woke up, the world had pulled on another layer of it overnight, like a giant white sweater. He shed his blankets and stretched, wandering over to the massive window. At the other end of the room was the stained glass's patterns reflecting brightly on his carpet; he admired their soft glow for a time before he went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Staring at his reflection and seeing his father's eyes staring back, he remembered the date. For the first time that holiday, missed his family.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from CharmingKarma, and it was: shed<p> 


	150. Painful Awareness

You are more than allowed to get mad at me for my tardiness; I promise you I'm trying to do better. Thank you for your patience, my dears!

* * *

><p><strong>Painful Awareness<strong>

The scale of a Holmes Christmas Morning was smaller than John thought it would be, considering that David and Anita roomed over half the family in their home during the holidays.

"Where is everyone?" asked John incredulously when he went into the kitchen, toting his purchased gifts under his arm, and saw Anita in her bathrobe, grating a bar of chocolate over the whipped cream in her coffee.

"Hullo, John," she said, glancing up at him, tucking shadowy hair behind her ear. "They clear out pretty early to head over to Grandma Holmes's house for breakfast. We're a bit insistent that the immediate family spend some time with each other on Christmas morning." She tightened the rope on her bathrobe (a very fluffy, soft-looking bathrobe, John noted a bit enviously) and asked, "Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, cocoa?"

"Tea would be lovely. Whatever you've got." John sat down at the island in the middle of the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

Anita filled the kettle and pulled a container of tea leaves from the pantry and looked at the clock above the sink. "David will be up any minute now, and Sherlock."

"Mycroft?"

"I don't think he sleeps."

"This seems like something that you should know, being his mother."

"I still have a great deal of influence over Mycroft, but if I tell him to go to bed, he'll give me a dirty look and insist that the fate of the country is more important than his rest."

"Seems awfully dramatic," remarked John, leaning on his hand.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Anita told him, a fox grin lighting her face. She sat back down in her chair and gazed at John inquisitively. "You haven't told us why you're here."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Am I allowed to ask why you aren't spending Christmas with your family?"

John hesitated, staring at a saltshaker. "My family has some…difficulties. I love them, but I wouldn't want to spend Christmas with them."

Anita didn't prod him for more, and John was grateful for that, but he found that he could trust her. "My dad walked out on my family when I was ten years old. He'd lost his job and fell into a rut taking drugs, and wasn't supporting us- monetarily, emotionally. We wanted him to stop shooting up, of course; we didn't care about the money as much as we cared about him. We were having a rough time of it, though. He left one day. I came home from school to find my mother piss-drunk on the floor crying, and my dad's clothes were gone from the closet, along with a few other things of his. I haven't seen him since. My mother is an alcoholic who cries and gets drunk every time I see her, but she's been getting better since I left for college. Probably because I look so much like my dad and she doesn't have to see me anymore. My sister's having an emotional breakdown following a failed marriage and doesn't want to see me. Or Mum. I respect her space; she was always someone who was strongest when she dealt with things herself before she opened up to others. I love my family, but…Christmas with them would not be happy. Right now, we're healthiest left to our own devices."

Anita pursed her lips in concern. "John, you need family. People to rely on."

John reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling a little embarrassed. "I have someone to rely on."

Anita looked blank for only a second, before her face broke out in a soft smile. "John, you are always welcome with our family. Sherlock cares about you immensely, and so do we. You're the first person he's ever been so fixed upon that he actually brought you home to meet us. He trusts you, which is more than what most people can say."

"Does Sherlock have many friends?"

"I can only think of a few, maybe one or two outside the family. Mike Stamford and I like to keep in touch. Other young men that Sherlock's managed to befriend are few and far between. You're the first that Mycroft has noticed, for instance. He called me quite soon after you and Sherlock met and said that you were going to be here for Christmas."

John could have smacked his forehead. "Mycroft…"

"You called?" asked Sherlock's older brother daintily as he came into the kitchen. "I heard my name. All good, I hope."

"Mycroft, I didn't meet you until a few months after Sherlock and I started living together; how is it that you knew I was going to be coming for Christmas?"

The kettle was boiling and Anita poured him some tea, handing him the tin of tea leaves and a strainer. Mycroft smiled foxily at him (an expression, John noted, that had crossed Anita's face earlier) and said, "I'm rather good at guessing these things."

"Were David and Sherlock up and moving about?" asked Anita as John let the tea leaves steep into the hot water. He recalled something she'd said to him only the day before: _"It's rather like tea leaves in water. You have water- versatile, universal, unique in its own way- but when you add tea leaves, what once was just water suddenly becomes tea. It's completely saturated with the flavor and it changes, often for the better."_

He felt his face flushed (for goodness' sake, why?) as he looked down at the wrapped gifts in his lap. Sherlock's was sitting on the bottom.

John stood and went over to the tree in the other room, placing the gifts gently underneath the tree. He turned when he heard a familiar voice say, "For all that I'm good at getting answers, I was never good at guessing what Christmas gifts were."

Sherlock stood there with an easy expression on his face, halfway between a smile and a pensive look, his hair messy with sleep and his bathrobe sitting gently over his clothes. He smiled a little more when John made eye contact with him and suddenly John was aware of a warmth in his throat, but sincerely hoped it wasn't due to the one emotion he'd so often coupled it with.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: fox grin<p> 


	151. Crush

I'll be following a schedule now that I've been accepted into college (full ride to my first choice school, by the way!), or at least trying to. :) Haven't decided on the day(s) of that yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Crush<strong>_  
><em>

_I'm not allowed to develop a crush on my flatmate. Especially when that flatmate is Sherlock. Unattainable, unearthly, unnerving Sherlock. _John tried to ease himself out of the slight panic building up in his chest. He _knew _this feeling, and dammit, he was not going to let his mind run away with it and make it amount to anything more than it really was.

"Morning, Sherlock. Merry Christmas." John settled his emotions at the sight of his sleepy, uncharacteristically relaxed friend glancing at the tree. "I hope you're well?"

"I'll be better once I've had a cup of tea," admitted Sherlock, smiling.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: unnerving<p> 


	152. Excitement

I know you are all just _dying _to know what John got Sherlock. Don't worry, it's coming, it's coming.

* * *

><p><strong>Excitement<strong>

Sherlock eyed John over his cup of tea with some worry. John's face was flushed and his eyes had a glimmer of desperation in them, which was unusual for his level-headed friend. Sherlock felt the urge to go over and ease the worry from John's brows.

His mother suggested that they open presents while his father was making breakfast; his father always took command of the kitchen on Christmas morning. "Sherlock, come join us," she said, touching his back gently as she passed.

Sherlock nodded and followed her. He chuckled at his mother's barely-contained excitement, pleased with how some things never changed.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: urge<p> 


	153. Yours

I imagine John and Sherlock on the sofa, Anita on the floor, and Mycroft in a stately armchair, surveying the ruckus like a king.

* * *

><p><strong>Yours<strong>

Presents were unloaded into people's laps by Anita. John could see that she was excited, and he knew that this came from her desire to see others happy. It warmed him each time she put a gift with lemon-yellow wrapping on Sherlock's or Mycroft's lap.

He was surprised when she began handing packages to him. "What's this?" he asked amusedly, putting the gifts next to him and looking at her curiously.

"They're yours, obviously," intoned Mycroft with an air of regality.

John's eyes widened. "I couldn't possibly-"

"John," said Sherlock, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Relax. We _want_ to give them to you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from thetravelinglemon, and it was: lemon<p> 


	154. Future Success

I had to go back and peek at what John had gotten everyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Future Success<strong>

Anita gasped with delight when she opened the owl-shaped salt and pepper shakers that John had gotten for her and David. "They're so precious! You have _excellent _taste, John."

"I'm flattered," chuckled John. He'd just opened one of the gifts from Anita; it was the gorgeous blue afghan he'd seen her knitting only a few days before. He'd had no idea it was for him. Mycroft had purred a thank you when he opened his umbrella-spoke fixer, and had in turn handed John a very formal brass nameplate that said "Dr. John Watson."

"For your future success," Mycroft said with a smile.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from holmesiswheretheheartis, and it was: flattered<p> 


	155. How to Win Friends and Influence People

I really like Dylan Thomas, by the way. Who are your favorite poets, you guys?

* * *

><p><strong>How to Win Friends and Influence People<strong>

Sherlock hadn't touched his gifts yet, preferring instead to watch his loved ones open theirs. He enjoyed John's and his mother's delight at their gifts (the white cocktail dress, the owl shakers, new jewelry and books from his father, and new gardening equipment from Mycroft for his mother; the blue afghan, a book of Dylan Thomas poetry from Mycroft, and a cookbook and a new jumper from him for John), and relished Mycroft's dry glance in his direction when he received the book _How to Win Friends and Influence People_.

"Hmph…as if I need it," snarked Mycroft, rolling his eyes.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my sister, and it was: friends<p> 


	156. Special

I feel the need to keep all of you in suspense.

* * *

><p><strong>Special<strong>

It was time for breakfast, and Anita and Mycroft retreated to the kitchen, chatting about their plans later that day.

"You haven't opened your gifts yet," remarked John curiously.

"I prefer to do it in private, or to just watch my family open their own. It's satisfying in its own way," Sherlock told him honestly.

John smirked. "Shall I leave you to open your presents alone?"

"No, you may stay. Shall we open yours first?"

"How about last?"

"Sounds fair." Sherlock reached for the gift from his mother, then hesitated. "...Now I'm curious about yours."

"Don't be." John grinned. "It's nothing special."

"If it's from you, it is."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Anonymous, and it was: special<p> 


	157. Atrocity

THE BIG REVEAL

* * *

><p><strong>Atrocity<strong>

Sherlock had gotten new dress shirts and slacks from Mycroft, a care package full of goodies from his parents, and…

"…What is this? No, I'll tell you what this is; this is an atrocity," Sherlock said in horror, pulling a deerstalker hat from John's package. "Where on earth did you find this?"

John was barely containing laughter. "Hat shoppe down in the village. Try it on! I bet you look ridiculous in it."

Sherlock put on the hat dryly, barely able to force out a sarcastic smile, which only made John laugh harder. "I was right. You look absolutely hilarious."

"Why, thank you, John."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from my friend Hannah, and it was: shoppe<p> 


	158. Handwritten

I wasn't just going to leave it at that...

* * *

><p><strong>Handwritten<strong>

"That's not your only gift," John admitted, pulling a smaller package out from behind him. "Look, I know this may seem kind of…unusual."

Sherlock took the package from him and tore at the wrapping. Inside was a leather journal. Opening it, he looked at the first page and saw, written carefully in John's painstaking script, was the title _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._

Sherlock stiffened in surprise, and then started flipping through the pages. Page after page of John's handwritten notes and stories about all the things he and Sherlock had done together.

"…John, I…"

"It's not done," remarked John quietly.

"Hand_written_?"

"No computer, remember?"

"Ah."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: unusual<p> 


	159. Fallen

Sorry it took so long :)

* * *

><p><strong>Fallen<strong>

Things were starting to slide into place in Sherlock's mind and he was appalled at himself for not picking up on it sooner. It had lurked in the corner of his mind but he had refused to acknowledge it.

"It's kind of a testament to our friendship," muttered John.

"If that's the case, then why isn't it _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson_?"

"Sherlock, you're the star here. I'm just the guy who takes it all down."

Sherlock hesitated. "…You said it wasn't finished?"

John looked at him honestly. "I certainly hope not."

Sherlock realized then just how hard he'd fallen for John Watson.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Hidden Forever, and it was: lurk<p> 


	160. Betting Pool

Whooo, the holidays are exhausting. Here's a late Christmas gift!

* * *

><p><strong>Betting Pool<strong>

When did it happen? Was it when he was trying to convince John to become his assistant? Had John, who he had been trying to captivate, captivated him instead? It suddenly became very clear to Sherlock that he was in way over his head, and that he wasn't sure what to do about it. He was hyperaware of an ache in his chest, nearly swamped by joy and confusion and a sense of dread.

"Sherlock?"

At the sound of his name, Sherlock wondered how one learned to control himself hearing it spoken by someone that one loves. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do- only one thing was certain, though, and it kept clanging in his head like a cymbal:

_I'm in love with John. _

…_Shitshitshitshitshit._

"Sherlock? You've gone all funny." John was looking at him oddly now, and Sherlock's hands tightened on the journal that had been given to him. He started noticing things, things he had chosen to ignore before, passing them off as ordinary- the weariness under John's eyes, the way that John's right hand was curled and cramping against his thigh, the way John's lips were too tight, the pages that still smelled like pen ink-

"…You hand wrote all of this _last night_," Sherlock realized, stunned. He flipped through the pages, which were numbered, and came to page 126. "_One hundred and twenty six _pages, John? What on earth were you thinking?" He noted with a quick scan that the same eloquence that shone through on the first page was still present on the last.

"I was hit with inspiration rather suddenly," John confessed, wringing his hands lightly. "I mean, if you don't like it-"

"Don't like it? Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock turned the pages lovingly. "John, this is the best gift anyone's ever given me."

"Thank heavens," said John, relief and happiness washing over his face. Sherlock's eyes fixed over his best friend's face and his stomach twisted.

…_This isn't good._

And it wasn't good, really. Because he was Sherlock Holmes, and John's interest had always decidedly not been…in him. Because he would see John's eyes trail after the curvy assistant that Mycroft would sometimes bring to Bean There, or the young woman who always wore something pink and only ordered complicated coffees. Sherlock thought of his own angular, definitely male body, and his mood swings and peculiar habits and prickly nature, and staved off the crushing disappointment he knew would be crippling to him. _John doesn't want me like that._

But he wanted John. Heavens, how long had it taken him to figure it out? With annoyance, he realized Mycroft had ages ago, and probably his mother as well. She was far more astute than she let on. He recalled her words to him: _"I never would have married your father if I'd just stood on the sidelines."_

He fought down a humiliated flush. _Of course she knows. She knows everything. _She'd known at least by that time that Sherlock had found John and Marian in the library.

Marian. Dammit, that was another embarrassment he wished he could have figured out faster. Why was he the least intelligent when it came to interpersonal relationships? That wasn't protectiveness, he realized, that was jealousy. _I was _jealous _over John, and I took it out on my cousin. My favorite cousin, no less, who was just flirting innocently with him. _

Sherlock felt the urge to slap his forehead. Really, he could be such an idiot sometimes.

"Are you two coming for breakfast or not?" called Mycroft peevishly, as he became grumpy without food in his stomach. "Hurry up."

"Coming!" John called back, getting off the couch and standing up with a stretch. He turned and reached down behind him, extending a hand to Sherlock. "Let's go, then."

Sherlock stared at John's hand, and then took it cautiously. John didn't seem to notice his hesitation, holding Sherlock in his warm grip and pulling him up off the couch.

"Let's go get some food. I'm starving."

* * *

><p>It was like a game of musical chairs that night at the family party; Sherlock clung to John and always nabbed a spot next to him. Marian noticed immediately and stayed a safe distance from John, only waving to him and Sherlock when they arrived but sticking close to her brother most of the night. At one point, though, John was chatting with Anita and so Sherlock wandered over to Marian and Marco, ready to make amends with the younger of the Morstan siblings.<p>

"I acted out of turn," he admitted quietly to Marian when she spared him a glance and Marco had turned to talk to his father.

She smiled slightly. "I'm not about to deny you your prior claim when I have other options."

He felt somewhat annoyed by the idea that she may have just been toying with John, but shoved it down. "I'm making a peace offering."

"I noticed. So did Marco. He was wondering why you seemed so hostile at first."

Sherlock winced. "Does he know?"

"Who doesn't? Your brother started a betting pool on whether or not you were going to bring John home for Christmas. There was a website for it and everything. Even Grandma bet. Now he's updated it. They've started betting on when you're going to start dating."

Sherlock's stomach dropped. "You must be joking."

Marian pulled out her mobile and pulled up a webpage to show him the proof.

"…I hope John doesn't find this."

"He wouldn't know what it was for even if he stumbled upon it; Mycroft only sent it to the family."

"My mother must be so embarrassed."

Marian gave him a look. "Your mother's bet more than everyone else, and you know it. You're just trying to make me feel guilty."

"You're right. How much have you bet?"

"Ten quid for within the next two months."

"I only just realized how I felt about all this this morning."

"About John? You're kidding. You were snarling at me to back off last night. You're telling me that you hadn't figured it out til now?" She looked put out. "I'm going to lose my bet then, if this is how slow you're moving."

* * *

><p>Prompts were from CharmingKarma and Javien Deluke, and they were (respectively): musical and eloquence<p> 


	161. Family

David and Mycroft, of course, are working plenty, even over the holidays.

* * *

><p><strong>Family<strong>

The next few days were some of the most relaxed of John's life.

He spent a good deal of his time with Sherlock, of course, as he always did, taking note of his friend's slightly unsettled countenance, but Sherlock never seemed to dwell for too long. Anita was also a close companion; winsome Anita with her knitting needles and her laughter like clinking glass. John had had no idea how much he would come to love his best friend's family; as much as he loved his, he wondered wistfully what it would be like to be part of the Holmeses too.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from AmonBeck, and it was: winsome<p>

I've discovered that if I put a "." between two words, like usernames, the word itself will disappear entirely. Funny how that happens.


	162. Kiss

I know some of you don't really like Marian/Mary Morstan, but I kind of think she would be a good broski?

* * *

><p><strong>Kiss<strong>

"Are you a mistletoe virgin, John?"

"Am I a _what_?"

Marian looked pointedly at him over the measuring cup she was pouring olive oil into. She was over for the afternoon helping Anita make a marinade for that night's dinner.

"You know. Have you been kissed under the mistletoe yet?"

"I don't think I even know what mistletoe looks like."

"New Years kiss?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"So you haven't had one?"

John, flustered, could only offer otiose explanations. Marian waved her hand at him.

"You still have a chance," she said. "I know who'd love to help you."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Amon Beck, and it was: otiose<p> 


	163. Assistance

It's okay, John. I'm a mistletoe virgin too. And I've never had a New Years kiss. Okay, I've had one on the top of my head, but that was my dad.

* * *

><p><strong>Assistance<strong>

"_This _is who'll help me out?"

Marian pocketed her mobile. "Isn't he cute? I'll be bringing him tonight."

"Mmm. I suppose he is," said John hesitantly. "But I really don't think that it's a good idea for my first mistletoe kiss to be given away to your cat? I'm kind of a dog person."

Marian laughed. "I was kidding. I only asked because there's mistletoe all over the house, and you haven't run into a single incident yet, it seems. Rather uncanny of you—you say you've never even seen it before?"

"All over the house?"

Marian pointed above them.

"Ah."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: uncanny<p> 


	164. At Peace

I've had a few people fretting about there being too much John/Mary; really now, this wouldn't be a Sherlock/John fic if you had anything to worry about.

* * *

><p><strong>At Peace<strong>

"I don't intend on kissing you, John," Marian told him, voice imbued with amusement. "I think it's more for Anita's sake—the mistletoe, I mean. She puts it all over the place as an excuse to spring kisses on David. I don't take much pleasure in kissing my aunt's guests, even if they are handsome doctors."

"Why, thank you. Where is Anita, anyway?"

"She went to drop off David's lunch."

"Where's Sherlock? Last I saw, he was napping on the couch—but he can't still be there."

Marian shook her head. "When Sherlock comes home, he sleeps better. He's at peace here."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: imbue<p> 


	165. Here

Marian pops the question. No, not _that _question.

* * *

><p><strong>Here<strong>

John's face softened with affection, and Marian's eyes swiftly noticed this.

"On another note, John, I have to ask you a question."

John nodded, noticing a newspaper near the coffee press and snatching it up to flip through it. "By all means."

"When are you and Sherlock getting together?"

John paused, looking up at her. She was completely serious, he realized with some surprise, and he found himself quickly saying, "Wait, what? What on earth are you talking about?"

"It wasn't a hard question, John."

Bewildered, he stared at her. "Why would you ask that?"

"...Well, he brought you here."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: swift<p> 


	166. Misinterpretation

Hi, all! Sorry for the delay.

Friday (March 8th) was my 18th birthday. It was a quiet affair, but still enjoyable.

* * *

><p><strong>Misinterpretation<strong>

John was completely unable to react. When he finally did, he said slowly, "I think that you're misinterpreting the nature of my relationship with Sherlock."

"Sherlock would never bring 'just a friend' home," Marion countered, going to the icebox to take out the steaks. "You're here for a reason."

"He considers me his best friend, so if that's what you mean by 'just a friend'-"

"No, John, look harder. I dare you to."

John rolled his eyes. "I don't think you understand."

"You keep saying that, but have you considered that _you _might be the one who doesn't understand?"

John didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: I dare you<p> 


	167. New Year's Resolutions

We've jumped forward a little ways now.

* * *

><p><strong>New Year's Resolutions<strong>

New Year's was drawing closer, and Anita was pestering Mycroft and Sherlock to make resolutions that would actually be of service.

"I told you, Mother," said Sherlock mildly at breakfast one morning as he sat with John, "my New Year's resolution of continuing to exist is an excellent resolution."

"You would have been doing that anyway," she grumbled, practically shoving toast on his plate. "Which egg do you want?"

"This one. Thank you." Sherlock took a bite of his toast.

"Just try to think of _one_ serious resolution."

Sherlock's face was thoughtful. It softened a bit. "…I think I'll treat the ones I love better."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: This one<p> 


	168. Distracted

I can't play chess.

* * *

><p><strong>Distracted<strong>

"Never again," grumbled John, flicking his queen off the chessboard. "I'm never playing with you again."

Anita chuckled and fluttered a silk fan, hiding behind it like a sneaky Asian grandmother. "You forget that you're talking to Sherlock Holmes' mother; all those smarts have to come from _somewhere_!"

"Will you stop whipping that fan around? That's why I lost; it was distracting me."

"You already seemed distracted, John, dear. I was merely pointing it out to you with my numerous victories." She sipped her tea smugly. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Maybe I will," said John, setting up the pieces again. "Maybe."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: Never again<p> 


	169. Awareness

Gearing up for a big chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Awareness<strong>

Sherlock was plagued by his new awareness.

He wanted to say something, to get it out in the open for his own relief, but that would ruin everything. _He'd surely desert me if he were to find out how I feel._ It was a pressing ache in the back of his head, and it was beginning to overwhelm him.

He thought back to the first time he met John, smelling like cinnamon sugar, standing behind a cash register. Kind, genuine John with his passion for coffee.

Sherlock was head over heels with John, and he had no clue what to do about it.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from CrimsonDuchess, and it was: cinnamon<p> 


	170. Another Year

This story is so emotionally exhausting. But sooooo worth it. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys.

* * *

><p><strong>Another Year<strong>

The Holmes family was hosting again, and this time it was for New Year's.

John insisted on helping with the cooking, and Anita let him. David, Mycroft, and a petulant Sherlock hung white lights from the balconies and assisted in running errands to the grocery. Whenever John and Sherlock interacted, shy smiles and some tension ensued.

Mycroft suspected they'd already done the deed, but after a text to Marion, she assured him that she highly doubted that anything had occurred and they were both absorbed in their own worlds. He rolled his eyes. _Looks like betting on under a month was too much to ask for._

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

John hadn't had much of a chance to talk to Sherlock's father, and when he found himself mixing batter for a pumpkin spice cake while David was taking a rest and reading the newspaper, he found himself wanting to break the silence with the serious, analytical man. "Anything interesting in the papers?" he hedged cautiously, peering at David past the mixer.

Blue eyes flitted in his direction and straightened the paper with a shake. "Not much. I mostly look in the economics section anyhow."

There was silence again as John buttered a pan.

_This is torturous, _he thought uncomfortably, rather wishing that Sherlock, Anita, or even _Mycroft_ could swoop in as a conversational partner. David had always been busy hosting or with work, and while John had had plenty of time to bond with Anita, the other half of the Holmes parental unit was foreign to him.

His surprise when David spoke up nearly made him spill the batter he'd begun pouring into the pan.

"Sherlock says he's been sharing a flat with you for several months now?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes, since late August."

"I hope he's not a difficult flatmate."

"He can be," John admitted candidly. "But if I didn't care about him or like him half as much as I do, then I wouldn't be splitting the rent with him."

"He's quite fond of you." David hadn't looked up from the paper yet.

John felt heat creep up his neck. "So I've been told. I'm quite fond of him as well."

Now David _did _look up, and John was reminded of where Sherlock had inherited his piercing, glacial stare. But the elder Holmes merely smiled and settled back in his chair comfortably, returning to the news.

Mycroft strode in the kitchen then, his buttery voice annoyed. "I think it's high time you get some help, Father," he stated, settling down at the table across from his father and straightening his collar. "You and Mummy don't have to do all this preparatory work and cleaning the whole house all the time when you could hire someone to do it for you."

"I'll consider enlisting help as your mother's birthday gift," said David, waving away his son's worries. "Besides, your mother and I keep fairly clean, especially now that we don't have two monkeys running around and leaving toys everywhere and starting fights."

John chuckled. Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Sherlock was always the instigator, John, believe me."

"I don't doubt it," lied John, perfectly capable of imagining a nine-year-old Mycroft luring his brother into a row by dangling toys above his head. Sherlock had told him plenty of stories of Mycroft's "abuse."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

It was 11:56 and John was taking refuge outside on a balcony, not interested in socializing. He had been all night; Sherlock's family was friendly and interesting, but he just needed some space for the moment, enjoying the quiet of the snowy evening away from the party. Among some of his favorites were Sherlock's suave cousin Marco- Marian's older brother-, David's keen sister Rebecca, and Sherlock's matronly grandmother Helene. It was snowing and John was swishing some wine around in his glass, mostly untouched. He wasn't much a fan of white wine, preferring something a little darker, but he took what he could get most of the time.

He heard the creak of the balcony door and he glanced over his shoulder. Sherlock was leaning against the frame, two glasses of champagne in his hands, looking at John carefully.

"Sorry," John said sheepishly, his shoulders shrinking a bit. "I came out here to get some space. I'll come back in if you'd like."

"No, it's fine," Sherlock said with a slightly sluggish note to his voice. John registered this; he knew Sherlock had had a few glasses of wine and, knowing his friend, that was plenty to get him just a bit loopy. Not embarrassingly drunk, but just enough to be noticeable.

John smiled as Sherlock approached him and held out a glass of champagne. "Thanks."

"…You know, John," Sherlock mused, gesturing out towards the town, "I'm happy to be here right now. And…I'm not always able to say that."

John quirked an eyebrow, brushing snow off his sleeve. "I can't imagine why you wouldn't be. Your family is lovely."

"They're always telling me to bring someone _home_ with me," Sherlock grumbled. John noticed that his cheeks were pink- an effect of the wine, he supposed.

Someone inside called, "One minute!"

John set his wine glass aside and settled the champagne glass in his grasp. "I'm happy that you decided to take _me_ home, then." He was a little bit embarrassed; Sherlock's proximity was making him feel warm despite the cold.

"I wouldn't have wanted to bring anyone else home."

John looked over at Sherlock. His flatmate was looking at him seriously, his unwavering gaze sincere. John's pulse picked up a bit.

"Twenty seconds!"

"It's almost the start of a new year," John said quietly, wondering where his breath had gone. _He needs to stop staring. Why the hell am I so nervous?_

"That it is," agreed Sherlock. His dark curls were sprinkled with snowflakes. One caught on an eyelash and he blinked it away. "John, I-"

"There's no one I'd rather spend another year with than you," John blurted out, completely unsure of where that had come from, and slightly exhilarated to realize that it was completely true.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Sherlock looked slightly stunned, his blue eyes wide.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

John looked back apprehensively, swallowing.

"Four! Three! Two! One!"

The clock struck midnight, and Sherlock ducked in to kiss John softly.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke and Amon Beck, and they were: This is torturous (Javien Deluke), buttery (Amon Beck), and instigator (Amon Beck).<p> 


	171. Satisfying

Ahhhh, it's so scary taking a relationship in a new direction. I'm so bad at it.

* * *

><p><strong>Satisfying<strong>

John was still as a stone, taken aback by the kiss. But as Sherlock pressed in with a little more force, John found himself relaxing and closing his eyes.

Impossibly soft, Sherlock tucked a hand behind John's neck and continued pressing gently against his lips, catching the lower one between his own and moving slightly. It was a clumsy but sincere kiss, and John was enjoying it far more than he ever thought he would. He'd had a few kisses before, but not like this. Sherlock was positively _blooming_ from it, and that was almost as satisfying as the kiss itself.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Paralelsky, and it was: stone<p> 


	172. Didn't Mind

I'm sorry for my delay! School got the better of me. However, now I have graduated and have a summer to update. Let's see if we can finish Tea Leaves up, hmm?

* * *

><p><strong>Didn't Mind<strong>

Sherlock pulled away from John's mouth slowly, tantalizingly.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"…I think so." John wasn't sure. "…Are _you_ all right?"

Sherlock finally said, "I'm pretty sure I'm going to be sick, but it's definitely not because of you."

John snapped back into his patient-best-friend persona and said sternly, "Bed. Now. You drank too much."

As Sherlock nodded owlishly and scooted back towards the house sheepishly, a bit like a child.

John sighed heavily and remembered those ravenous kisses.

_All a product of champagne, I suppose_, he thought. But he smiled a little. _I didn't mind that as much as I thought I would._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from AmonBeck, and it was: ravenous<p> 


	173. Too Long

Bonjour!

* * *

><p><strong>Too Long<strong>

Anita and David stood outside the gate as the cab drove off, waving at Sherlock and John until neither pair could see the other.

It was January 3rd, and not a word had been spoken about the midnight kiss.

The once-promising exchange was lingering over John's shoulders like a too-heavy blanket. Sherlock didn't seem to remember it at all, as he'd spent a good portion of the night throwing up. John hadn't thought it wise to bring it up.

_Stupid, stupid_, he chided himself mentally, looking out the window. _And now you've let it go too long. Too late to say anything now._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Arty Diane, and it was: too long<p> 


	174. Promise

Any Teen Wolf fans out there, out of curiosity?

* * *

><p><strong>Promise<strong>

Sherlock glanced over at John, who was staring at the gray scenery rushing past.

_He seems uneasy._ Sherlock fiddled with his phone, flipping it lightly in his hands. _It must be because I kissed him the other night while I was drunk._

…_That was not my finest moment._

In reality, Sherlock had been rather humiliated with himself for forcing his affection on John, but it was too late to say anything now- John seemed unpleased with it- or him- and Sherlock wasn't about to drudge up unpleasant memories.

Sherlock sighed quietly. _I'm sorry, John. I promise I won't do it again._

_Not unless you ask._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: uneasy<p> 


	175. Beautiful

Guess who's back?

* * *

><p><strong>Beautiful<strong>

"He's back in town."

A cigarette butt was tossed aside. "So. Are you going to get moving?"

"Obviously." Fingers drummed on a mahogany table, shined to the point of reflection.

"It's uncommon of you to wait so long."

"Well, it's uncommon for me to find a target quite like this one," Jim Moriarty hummed, flicking a crumpled piece of paper in his blonde companion's direction.

"Sebastiana, this may be my masterpiece," sighed Jim happily, squirming in his seat. Seb's eyes flicked up to him briefly as she lit her cigarette.

Jim stared at the lit end. "I will burn Sherlock Holmes, and it will be _beautiful_."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: uncommon<p> 


	176. Crushed Under the Weight

When is it ever going to stop raining here? Gadfkjghfdkjsghsd

* * *

><p><strong>Crushed by the Weight<strong>

Classes started up again. John was eager to delve into something that required his full attention; he could never shake the feeling of being caged on holidays away from school. He remembered his younger years, feeling sick as school let out for winter break, and knowing that he had to be home with his sister and mother for two weeks. The thought had made him quite sick at the time; his mother was a depressed alcoholic and his sister was a bitter troublemaker, and even though he hadn't talked to them in months, their presences in his mind were stifling.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: caged<p> 


	177. Inquiry

My goal for this chapter was to use as many prompts as I could.

* * *

><p><strong>Inquiry<strong>

Sherlock plucked at his violin strings as Mycroft moseyed into the apartment. "You called, brother dear?"

Sherlock tuned the violin with dexterous fingers. "I have an inquiry, and I wanted to utilize your connections."

"And it was an inquiry so important that you had to skip…" Mycroft pulled out his mobile phone swiftly. "Your anatomy and physiology 201 class? Aren't you supposed to be dissecting a salamander right now?"

"Listen, Mycroft," hummed Sherlock, straightening the violin's bridge. "If I gave you a series of events, would you use your resources to assist me in finding a pattern or a common denominator?"

Mycroft thought. "…Gladly."

* * *

><p>Prompts were from<p>

Javien Deluke, and they were: **strings** and **the apartment**

CharmingKarma, and it was: **dexterous**

Sailsiri Culnamo, and they were: **swift, salamander, **and **utilize**

FMAfreakx, and it was: **mundane**

CrimsonDuchess, and it was: **mobile phone**


	178. Going Out

Mrs. Hudson's niece Felicity was visiting with her newborn, so John's much-desired nap was no longer an option. The baby was suffering from colic, and now John was suffering from a headache.

He rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom, scowling. He'd been increasingly stressed and bothered over the past few weeks, and a screaming baby was no help.

Sherlock had gone out to get dinner from the Tesco for that evening, but John didn't feel like cooking anymore. Impulsively, he fumbled around in his pocket, pulling out his mobile.

"Sherlock? Let's not cook tonight."

_"What would you rather do?"_

"Let's go out."


	179. Fix Him

We're getting into our final major story arc here, the last one before Tea Leaves comes to an end. Can't wait to take you guys for the ride.

* * *

><p><strong>Fix Him<strong>

Sherlock looked down at the phone in his hand, plastic bags draped over his arm, groceries weighing unpleasantly on his forearm. The apples in the bag were cutting off circulation and making his arm red, but he had other things on his mind.

His brain kept replaying the sound of John's weary, irritated voice. _I don't know how to fix this, but I will somehow._

His phone buzzed again, grabbing his attention. After reading the text, his eyes slowly widened and he looked toward the direction of the flat, pained expression on his face.

John wouldn't be having dinner with him that night.

* * *

><p>The prompt was from CrimsonDuchess, and it was: apples<p> 


	180. Into Thin Air

My mother: "Why haven't you updated your Sherlock story in four months?"

Me: "What? How did you know that I haven't updated?"

Mom: "I'm subscribed to it. I need to know what happens next."

Me: "Oh. Oh my god. I didn't realize you- ugh. You know I could just tell you?"

Mom: "Don't joke about that. Go publish the next chapter. I saw you working on it. Get your ass in gear."

* * *

><p><strong>Into Thin Air<strong>

It had been three hours.

"That's it," John muttered, snatching his phone off his bedside table. He was worried, he was hungry, and he had texted Sherlock six times to no avail. He was going to the Tesco where his flatmate had last been (he was sure, at least, of that, even if he didn't know where Sherlock was now) and if Sherlock was there, God help him when John got his hands on him for making him worry.

It was only a few blocks away. John stalked through the aisles of the grocery, peeking out of each one before he went into the next, eyes searching desperately for Sherlock. _Where the hell is he?_

The whole store thoroughly scoured, John made his way out the doors again and was just heading home when something caught his eye on the bench near a lamppost.

He paused, not sure if he was seeing it correctly, then cautiously made his way over, picking up the cloth laying on the bench cautiously. _It could be anyone's hat,_ he thought with a shadow of rising panic, but when he lifted it and examined it, his stomach dropped to find a familiar tweed deerstalker. John sank to the bench, his mind flooded with the memory of Sherlock walking on eggshells around his nasty mood, putting on that damn hat that John had gotten him for a joke gift as a silent attempt at affection, smiling cautiously at John as he left for the store, and disappearing out the door without a word.

_Calm down_, John thought, trying to breathe deeply and slow his racing heart. _Calm down. If he doesn't show up back at the flat in an hour, you can call Mycroft._

As much as he wanted to keep a cool attitude about it, though, his head felt light and he was flipping through a mental list of everywhere Sherlock could be. Hands unsteady, he yanked his mobile phone out of his pocket and called him.

He got an error message, saying the phone could not be found.

John's heart seized up.

…_Bean There first. That's the first place I'll look._

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

Mike was working the evening shift that night, along with a bookish young lady from the university that John had only spoken to a few times. When he came in, panting and wild-eyed, she'd called Mike out to get John some water.

"What the hell's going on, John Watson? Finally exercising for once in your life?" Mike joked as he came out of the back storage room with a water bottle. John wasn't emotionally equipped to handle a flippant attitude at that moment, so he stayed silent, guzzling the water down. When he was finally ready, he looked at Mike.

"Has Sherlock been here?"

"No," replied Mike immediately. "He only comes in when you're working anyway, nowadays."

This was foreboding. John sighed heavily. "You know where I might find him if he hasn't come home in a while?"

Mike, though gregarious, was quick to pick up on the foreboding tone of John's voice. "Nah, mate. You know him better than I do, now; you live with the guy."

John worried his lower lip between his teeth and nodded. "Right, thanks, Mike." He started towards the door but was stopped by Mike's hand on his shoulder.

"John- is everything okay?"

John hesitated, then replied truthfully, "I hope so."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

"Well, John. I had begun my evening ecstatic for a night in with a bottle of brandy, a trip to the theater, and a phone call to my mother about her hyacinth plants, but now…"

"Mycroft, are you joking me right now? Your brother left this flat at 4:51, with the intent of coming back in twenty minutes with dinner, and he's been gone for…" John checked his watch irritably. "Five hours and twenty-six minutes. And he left his hat that I'd given to him for Christmas on a bench by the Tesco."

Mycroft's sigh over the phone made static in John's ear. He fought the urge not to hyperventilate. Why didn't Mycroft care?

It dawned on him suddenly.

"…You know something I don't. Don't you, Mycroft?" John sat down slowly. "You _know_ something."

Mycroft was silent on the other end. John held his breath, until after what seemed like an eternity Mycroft said quietly, "You do not need to know anything about this, John. It's best if you stay out of where you don't belong."

John's temper crept up in his throat. "…Where I don't _belong_? What part of your brother being my _best friend_ gives you the idea that I don't _belong_? What does that mean, anyway? That I don't deserve to know where he is? That I don't get to know what's going on?"

"John," Mycroft interrupted, _"_I suggest best that we end this conversation and, for a while, you continue on with your work as if nothing was going on. In fact, I think it's probably for the best."

Before John could say anything else, Mycroft hung up on him. Stunned, John tried calling back.

Like before, John received the same coldly intoned error message.

The growing unease in his stomach told him what he already knew: that the Holmes brothers, for whatever reason, had just cut John Watson out of their lives.

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

_"He's worried about you."_

Sherlock straightened his collar, peering at his reflection. "He'll get over it quickly," he told Mycroft, the throwaway phone he had on speaker and sitting on the sink of the public restrooms.

_"What is your course of action, Sherlock?"_

"I'm going to do what I need to do, Mycroft. The challenge was presented to me and I'll attack it as best as I can."

_"How do you know you're not walking into a trap?"_

"I do know. I _am_ walking into a trap. That's how he plays his game. You don't think I was studying him that whole time?"

A long pause, then a sigh. _"Sherlock? What exactly are you doing?"_

"You know exactly what I'm doing."

_"But I fail to understand why you are responding to this man's games."_

Sherlock finished grooming himself, and silently hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. "Why," he said quietly, "to protect my loved one."

* * *

><p>Prompts were as follows.<p>

From FMAfreakx: **shadow** and **foreboding**

From AmonBeck: **flippant** and **gregarious**

From fingers-falling-upwards: **hyacinth**

From Merle: **collar**

From CrimsonDuchess: **ecstatic** and **hyperventilate**


	181. Gone

I just have a thing to throw out there, and I don't want to seem like a stick in the mud but I know this is true of many authors concerning their works in progress.

When an author's got a WIP that you like that they haven't updated for a while, I highly, _highly_ recommend not telling them to update. I got a lot of private messages along the lines of "Come on! Update already!"

Believe me, I haven't forgotten about Tea Leaves. It's constantly hovering over my shoulder. Now, there are plenty of reasons that an author, like myself, may not be updating their WIP: stuck on the plot (true for me), real life is taking over (I'm taking the maximum amount of hours at university), or the author has gotten out of practice with their writing and they're having difficulty getting started again (academic papers can do that to you). Whatever the reason, I'm 900% aware that I suck for not updating. I promise I know this, and I'm sorry! I really am, you guys. I appreciate my readers so much, I swear. But even though I feel awful, you know what I don't feel?

Inspired. I don't feel inspired to make quality work. And ordering me to update, asking me to update, or begging me to update isn't going to make me feel inspired any more than I already do. You know what will? Expressing enthusiasm for the story itself. I love hearing things like "Nice job!" or "I liked the way you did this!" or "This was good, but you could do better on this" even! That inspires me way more than "WHY HAVEN'T YOU UPDATED?"

You wanna make your favorite WIP's authors feel good and inspired? Tell them how much you love their story, not how much you wish they'd update.

I know this makes me sound so mean and horrible but my other writer friends will tell you the same thing. Take care of your writers- I promise they'll deliver! *hug*

* * *

><p><strong>Gone<strong>

"Gone. Just like that."

"Didn't say anything to you after he left?" Lestrade asked as his team combed Baker Street for any traces of information regarding Sherlock's whereabouts.

"Not a thing. Just smiled at me and left." John felt sick. There'd been an ineffable depression settled on his chest since yesterday, when Sherlock had left. "I don't know if he's been abducted or if he was threatened or killed, for God's sake."

Lestrade nodded quietly. "We'll find out what's going on, all right? You keep your chin up."

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" called Donovan from the kitchen.

"Yes, sergeant?"

"You might want to come see this, sir."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: ineffable<p> 


	182. Evidence

I haven't abandoned Tea Leaves. Thank you all for all your support.

* * *

><p><strong>Evidence<strong>

John and Lestrade followed Donovan's voice.

Donovan and Anderson were standing over the table. Anderson pointed in the direction of something laying beside a bowl. As John approached it he realized that it was Sherlock's phone.

He gasped and lunged for it, his stomach in knots. "Wait a minute! He took his phone with him, I know it. He was here!"

"Don't touch it!" cautioned Donovan, laying a hand on his arm. "You may taint evidence."

John's heart flipped nervously at the only clue he had to Sherlock being called "evidence."

"We'll test it for prints," Lestrade told him. "Get a kit in here!"

* * *

><p>Prompt was from CrimsonDuchess, and it was: knots<p> 


	183. Pipe Dream Queen

She's actually a little embarrassed that he teases her pipe smoking. I don't know a lot of women who smoke pipes, but all the ones I do know are varying types of badass. Badasses all, but badasses for different reasons.

* * *

><p><strong>Pipe Dream Queen<strong>

Sebastiana Moran languished in her plush leather computer chair. The room she sat in was mostly dark, save for her monitor and the soft glow of embers in her pipe.

From her monitor, a small beep sounded. She opened one eye lazily, then leaned forward to press the intercom button on the landline. "Bosh," she said, her pipe clenched between her teeth. Jim snickered on the other end of the line, and she quickly took the pipe out of her mouth, rolling her eyes. "Boss. Mobile GPS says he's in the house."

"He's not that stupid."

"Want to zero in? Investigate anyway?"

"Do it. Ta, darling!"

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Merle, and it was: darling<p> 


	184. In a Haystack

There was an anonymous guest who informed me that last summer they were struggling with suicidal thoughts and depression, and that Tea Leaves gave them something to look forward to.

I really don't have words to tell you how much that meant to me, my friend, and that I hope you're doing all right now. And if you aren't, I hope that you continue the fight to stay with us. Thank you for your hard work. I used your prompt, but I bent it a bit.

You all as readers have been so incredibly supportive and considerate of me over the past few months. You all really give me the drive to go on. If I can make one of you smile with a new chapter, my job is complete. Thank you all for taking such good care of me.

* * *

><p><strong>In a Haystack<strong>

"Password-locked, huh?" mused Lestrade. They'd just finished dusting down for prints— none but Sherlock's were present on the phone. Now, handling it with gloved hands, the detective inspector had turned the phone on only to encounter a barrier.

"What? No," said John in surprise. "He never passcoded his mobile."

Lestrade held it up for proof. There it was— a four-number passcode.

John felt irritation and panic surfacing. "So he sneaks— or waltzes, God knows— into this flat, locks his phone, and leaves it for us to puzzle over?" he said. "Knowing Sherlock, a passcode of his is like a needle in a haystack."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Guest, and it was: hay<p> 


	185. Key to His Heart (But Really, His Phone)

I would just like to remind any interested parties that I do have a tumblr; my username is yupthatsmysock. It's a very laid-back and silly personal/multifandom blog, but it's always fun to have new people to interact with.

* * *

><p><strong>Key to His Heart (But Really, His Phone)<strong>

"Anything you can think of off the top of your head? It would save my guys some time."

John took the phone gingerly from Lestrade's hand and hovered his fingers over the screen. Quickly he tried to think of all the four-number letter and number combinations he could think of that might be significant to Sherlock, fiddling with the phone.

2211, for 221B. _Incorrect Password._

5911, for the day they met— September 5th, 2011. _Incorrect Password._

1895, a number that Sherlock seemed to favor for some reason. _Incorrect Password._

John hesitated. _Could he have?_ His heart thudded. _Would he?_ Then ever so slowly—

5646. J-O-H-N.

_Incorrect Password._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Merle, and it was: fiddle<p> 


	186. Challenge Accepted

Hello, friends, it's nice to see you again.

Well, I'll be honest with you. I've lost a lot of interest in Tea Leaves and in Sherlock in general; the third season was highly disappointing for me and I'm just starting to grow out of Sherlock and into new things. That being said, that's only motivated me further to get this fic off my shoulders and into your hands so I can finally mark the damn thing as complete and then not have to bother with it again.

Let's finish this story arc, shall we? I feel like it'll extend past 200 chapters, but I'll do my best to make the last chapter a multiple of ten, so that you get a more satisfying ending.

* * *

><p><strong>Challenge Accepted<strong>

_He just left his phone in the flat. _Sebastiana sighed and leaned back in her chair.

She didn't get why the boss cared so much about this twerp, but his hunger to see him fail— in Jim's mind, that usually meant die— was ravenous. Something about "disrespect". Seb didn't care one way or another, really.

Earlier she had been given one task and the directions were simple. She looked down at the phone Jim had given her and thought back to the message she'd sent, presumably to Holmes' number:

_Come get me or I'll get John Watson._

The response had been brief: _Challenge accepted._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from AmonBeck, and it was: ravenous<p>

**EDIT: This, and multiple of the following chapters, are a repost because FFNet isn't sending out notifications that a new chapter has been published. Sorry for any inconvenience.**


	187. Locks and Keys

The person who hypothesized that the passcode would spell out John's name had a good guess. Props on that one, pal. It wasn't a bad idea and if I didn't like this one so much, I would've used it.

* * *

><p><strong>Locks and Keys<strong>

John hadn't slept worse in his life.

Sherlock's phone sat on his bedside table, plugged in to a charger, its face glowing faintly with the time. John was staring at it, his hands tangled in the bedsheets near his pillow, wracking his brain for the passcode.

_God, what _is _it? _he wondered, getting more irritated. A rational part of his brain told him that it could just be a random combination— _Yes, Sherlock would prefer that, it would make it harder to guess—_ and he knew Sherlock changed the code regularly. For the life of him, he couldn't figure it out—

…_Wait._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Crimson Duchess, and it was: bed sheets<p> 


	188. Here Goes Nothing

Just do it, John.

* * *

><p><strong>Here Goes Nothing<strong>

John's heart began to thud uncomfortably. _No. No. Stop it, John._

His hand reached out towards the phone, then quickly snaked back towards the covers, as if the mobile was on fire, but really it was his own fingers that burned with curiosity.

_And if it isn't?_ he asked himself. _What will you do with yourself then?_

Inside him, a voice that sounded faintly like Sherlock's told him that he wouldn't sleep tonight unless he knew the answer.

John bit his lip. Quickly snagging the phone from the bedside table, he rolled on his back and held the phone above him.

_Here goes nothing._

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Merle, and it was: sleep<p> 


	189. 1112

Idiots in love.

* * *

><p><strong>1112<strong>

1-1-1-2.

The mobile's lock screen slipped gracefully into the app screen, and John let out a broken noise from somewhere in his throat, tossing the phone away from him. It landed on an armchair near the fireplace and in the back of his mind he was grateful for that, but now all he could think about what Sherlock, that fucking bastard, that beautiful, wonderful, absolute bastard. Now he was _gone, _and John didn't know if he'd ever see Sherlock again, and he couldn't tell him how please he was that the phone's passcode was January 1st, 2012— the night they'd kissed.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Paralelsky, and it was: slip<p> 


	190. A Business Proposition

A lot of you will be pleased to hear this:

I will be completing _Tea Leaves_ with chapter 200.

* * *

><p><strong>A Business Proposition<strong>

_Two months later_

Sherlock was _so close._

He wasn't going to let Jim slip through the cracks—John was at stake. And now, here, at Jim's…_lair?_ Sherlock almost sneered—Jim would _want_ him to call it a lair, the pretentious prick, and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even in his private thoughts—and now here, at Jim's hideout, as he quietly began disabling the lock, he could feel his fingers giving way to adrenaline-fueled trembling.

_What does he want?_

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

Sherlock had successfully broken her surveillance camera, so Seb had to watch him from afar—the rooftop across the street.

Dryly, she took a drag off her cigarette—something cheap she'd found in a drawer for emergency use—and watched him.

_Can't believe Jim gets all puppy-dog over this chump. I would've disabled that lock two minutes ago._ She blew smoke out of her nose. _He's getting sloppy. He's afraid for the target, it's making him an idiot._ The target, she had been told, was John Watson. She'd scoped him out weeks ago. She'd even gotten coffee at that little university coffee shop that he worked at. It had been pretty good coffee.

Sherlock stepped back in what looked like quiet satisfaction and slipped inside. Seb took another drag off her cigarette, turned on her dispatcher radio attached to her vest, and said, "He's in, boss. Waiting on you."

Silence, then static, then, "_I can handle him just fine, Sebastiana. I'm ending this. Or he is. One of us is. Wait outside, I don't want you coming in. You've got to let the two of us appreciate teach other."_

Seb looked at the radio disdainfully. _Idiot with a death wish. God, I can't wait till my contract's up._ "…All right, boss."

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

Jim settled back in his chair. The fireplace was lit up, not just for warmth but also for dramatic effect— no point of getting Sherlock all the way out here just to look small, not grand. Business propositions had to be done in style.

Quietly, he waited, keeping an eye on the many monitors that showed the various hallways and rooms lined with surveillance cameras.

_Come get me or I'll get John Watson._

It was simple, straightforward— moreso than he liked, but he didn't have the desire to stage anything too elaborate and be met with lack of interest. Nor, really, was he particularly interested in kidnapping, killing, maiming, or otherwise harming John Watson, though he had to admit that the otherwise dull medical student was such a keen motivator. Jim didn't know what Sherlock saw in him, really; John didn't share the mental acuity that Jim and Sherlock did, so what was the point of keeping him around? What could the appeal possibly be? All Jim knew, really, was that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't respond to Jim's beckoning with the same vigor as he would with the threat of John Watson's wellbeing on the line.

Jim was impressed, though— for a threat and a challenge so vague, Sherlock had done plenty of work to get here. He'd done a year's worth of investigating in two months, really. It deserved Jim's approval, at the very least—Sherlock had gotten to Lithuania so much faster than Jim's other candidates.

When the door opened, Jim was ready for him.

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

Two months ago, John had presented the mobile to Lestrade with the opened phone. Two months ago the security detail had started— John had a police officer keeping an eye on the flat at all times, basically (he and Lestrade had both seen the _Come get me or I'll get John Watson_ from the unknown sender).

One month ago, Lestrade had conceded, "He really doesn't want us to find him."

One week ago, Lestrade had pondered, "Maybe he wants you to find him."

One week ago, Lestrade had also angrily texted, "DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID. I can't have 2 missing idiots on my hands."

John was exhausted.

Bean There kept him going as only the routines, noises, and smells of a coffee shop job could. The cafe transitioned its menu into its spring themed drinks and teas, it took down its plaid bows and its little evergreens that it kept up during the winter season, and it replaced them with potted vegetation— pretty purple bellflowers that John learned were actually the plants the Grimms based "Rapunzel" from, ferns, something with waxy leaves, daisies. Only the steadiness of Bean There comforted John, and even that was sometimes too much for it.

Mike Stamford got a girlfriend, and took more time in front of the counter now to sit with her. John didn't mind— working solo sometimes helped. In the rushes, when he was busily pulling shots and warming up pastries and socializing with customers and wiping up spills— he almost forgot about Sherlock.

Almost. Not quite.

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

John was used to Sherlock's phone ringing, or buzzing from texts. It sometimes woke him up during the night, and he'd sometimes glance over at the screen. It was never anything important, really— sales calls, or political surveys, or business numbers. Occasionally someone would call who was listed in Sherlock's phone, but never anyone that Sherlock knew.

It would occur to John in those times how little he did know about Sherlock, apparently.

He never picked up the phone or looked at the texts— it seemed rude of him to do so. He told himself in the first month that Sherlock would be so scandalized if John read his texts— he was often exceedingly private about them, and unless he showed John a specific text himself, rarely did he even pass his phone over to John. So, John reasoned, no excuse to break that trust.

In the second month, John didn't look at the phone or answer the texts because it would hurt too much to do so.

It was a Tuesday night. John was settling into bed. The mobile phone was on his nightstand, plugged in. The phone buzzed with a text, but he was too heartsore and tired to glance at it for more than a second.

Then his eyes flew open and he sat up quickly, hand darting out for the phone.

Plainly across the phone's screen, a text from an unknown number that simply read: _John._

* * *

><p>The prompts for this chapter were courtesy of:<p>

Javien Deluke, with: cracks

samiam13, with: puppy dog

CrimsonDuchess, with: fireplace, vegetation

Merle, with: rapunzel, wax


	191. An Offer He Can't Refuse

I have some renewed vigor to get this story finished. Thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

><p><strong>An Offer He Can't Refuse<strong>

"I'm making an offer."

Sherlock was on pins and needles, watching Jim carefully from his side of the room. "I don't want to accept."

"You haven't even heard it yet," Jim complained.

"I. Don't. Want. It."

Jim was unfazed. "Listen. Just hear me out, Sherlock. You do such _fantastic_ work. Really, I'm such a fan. But I'd rather have you working for me than against me." He held out his hands. "Really, the rewards are just…ineffable. I can't even describe them! Ask anyone who works for me."

"Who works for you?" Sherlock asked, quietly, suspiciously.

Jim's smile was catlike, dangerous. Sherlock backed up. "_Lots_ of people."

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: ineffable<p> 


	192. An Understanding

The thought of this getting new readers, three years after it's inception, is baffling. At least you new kids won't have to sit through hiatuses that lasted up to a year.

* * *

><p><strong>An Understanding<strong>

Sherlock understood. _I understand very well,_ he thought, looking down.

Last year, this might have tempted him. Last year, this might have been exactly what he wanted to rip him out of his boredom, his stagnation.

But that changed.

Sherlock's fingers twitched. _This is what you want_, a part of him whispered. _Power. Access to crimes. Involvement in crimes. Stimulation. You want this._

But softly, softly, another part of him presented another picture:

A quiet evening in the flat, sitting on the futon, John Watson's head resting on his shoulder.

The thought of it filled him with indescribable warmth.

Sherlock looked up, and he made his choice.

* * *

><p>Prompts were from:<p>

AmonBeck, and it was: stagnantion

CrimsonDuchess, and they were: twitch, futon


	193. Pass

*pants, groping at the finish line*

* * *

><p><strong>Pass<strong>

"I'll pass."

Jim chewed on his lip. "Sherlock, I don't think you under_stand_—"

"I do understand what you're offering, the…magnitude of it," Sherlock assured him quietly. "But the reality of what you're offering me…cannot exist beside the reality of what I want more."

Jim wasn't swayed. "You don't really want me for an enemy," he commented blithely.

"I'm sure I can handle it," Sherlock quipped, smirking.

Jim considered him thoughtfully. "Well, I won't kill you. Yet. But Sherlock, know that I don't intend to leave you alone."

Sherlock exhaled. "I could have guessed."

Jim pouted. "Consider my offer, darling."

"I did," Sherlock said, turning to leave. "_I'll pass._"

* * *

><p>Prompt was from czanghi, and it was: smirk<p> 


	194. Going Home

Ugh, characterization is such a pain.

* * *

><p><strong>Going Home<strong>

Seb radioed in. "Boss, he walked out. You?"

"_I'm fine, Sebastiana. He refused. I let him leave. If I bother him enough, he'll surrender."_

Seb picked at her nails. "What now?"

"_I have _plenty_ to do, darling. I can't spend it worrying about one university student—even if he is Sherlock Holmes. Give him time. I'll cause him some trouble and he'll know whose side he wants to be on."_

Down below, Sherlock made his way back to the car that was parked a mile away from the warehouse.

"All done?" Mycroft drawled, still managing to sound prim.

Sherlock nodded, pulling out his phone. "One final task."

* * *

><p>The prompt was from Sailasiri Culnamo, and it was: surrender<p> 


	195. The Text

I don't know anything about police procedure- sorry y'all.

* * *

><p><strong>The Text<strong>

"He texted me, I know he did," John said, shoving the phone at Lestrade. "Last night, I swear. Look!"

Lestrade looked at the phone. He wasn't convinced. "It just says your name. It's from an unknown number."

John sighed, frustrated. "I know it was Sherlock."

"We can trace where the text came from—_maybe_," Lestrade told him. "But don't be surprised if nothing comes up. I'll send it over to Donovan."

"You _can't_, she's _biased_, she doesn't _want_ him to come home—"

"John," Lestrade snapped, interrupting. "You are exhausted. Go home."

"But—"

"Go. Home. I'll talk to you if we find anything out."

John nodded, defeated, and left.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from AmonBeck, and it was: bias<p> 


	196. The Homecoming

Get excited.

* * *

><p><strong>The Homecoming<strong>

John stepped into 221B, calling as he went upstairs, "Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade didn't believe me!" He didn't even know if Mrs. Hudson was home or not, but he needed to complain. He shook his jacket off his arms as he opened the door to his flat. "He didn't believe me when I said the text was from—"

He stopped.

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, sunlight illuminating his curls from behind, his clothes a little messy and a bit muddy but otherwise the same as they always were—neat, fitted.

It was not a fleeting phantom, John realized. "…Sherlock," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: fleeting phantom<p> 


	197. Basorexia

Mmmm, what you all have been waiting for, I hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Basorexia<strong>

In two long strides Sherlock had reached him. John was still frozen when Sherlock put his hands on his jaw, leaned down, and kissed him.

It was a simple, wonderful kiss— clumsy but heartfelt, soft, wet. Sherlock caught John's lower lip between his own and he pressed a little more intently, tilting his head. John melted, his tensed shoulders going limp. Embers of a feeling he had tried not to encourage kicked up into flames.

It was just like New Year's, all over again—John felt the same strange giddiness and warmth flowing through his belly, but now, there was something else, too—

Fury.

* * *

><p>Is it cheating if I make the chapter title a prompt word?<p>

Prompts were from Javien Deluke (who submitted, like, seventy prompts, in case you were wondering), and they were: basorexia, embers


	198. Consequences

Oh my god, I'm almost _done._ I got this. C'mon, girlfriend.

* * *

><p><strong>Consequences<strong>

His hand hit the side of Sherlock's face with an audible _whack_. Sherlock stumbled back, wide-eyed. "John?"

"What—what the _fuck_," John bellowed at him. "What the everloving—_Sherlock!_ Where the hell were you, you prick?"

"Taking—taking care of business?" Sherlock offered. "I brought the groceries I was supposed to get two months ago."

John's eyes followed where Sherlock's finger was pointing, spotting a Tesco bag on the table. Beside it was a dark blue cardigan and a pair of fuzzy white socks.

"And those?"

"Gifts for you and Mrs. Hudson. Because I didn't pay the rent in two months. Your blue jumper started to unravel, right?"

* * *

><p>Prompts were from Javien Deluke, and they were: dark blue cardigan and a pair of fuzzy white socks, and ravel<p> 


	199. The Truth Comes Out

All right, folks, it's this chapter and the next chapter (which I will complete by tonight) and then we're done.

* * *

><p><strong>The Truth Comes Out<strong>

"If you have to know, Jim Moriarty wanted to make me a part of his crime ring," Sherlock explained.

"…Bollocks. BOLLOCKS—"

"It's true!"

"I know you, though, that kind of offer is too exciting for _you_ to refuse—"

Sherlock interrupted him. "I refused because a life with you is more appealing."

John blinked. "Wait. Wait, really?"

Sherlock nodded, exhaling. "I feel…I'm rubbish at expressing myself, John, but if you must know, I love you. More than crime scenes."

John nodded slowly, swallowing. "Well…ah. Brilliant. Excellent. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Ah—yeah." John was flushing a deeper and deeper red. "Come over here and kiss me again."

Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

><p>Prompt was from Javien Deluke, and it was: I feel<p> 


End file.
